


Ripples In The Water

by roryheadmav



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Highlander - Freeform, M/M, Non-Consensual, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-04-10
Updated: 2001-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-07 20:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roryheadmav/pseuds/roryheadmav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One tragic evening brings Duncan MacLeod together with a mysterious old woman. What is her connection to Duncan? What secrets will Methos learn about the Highlander?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stacie Ferrence](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Stacie+Ferrence).



> This story is a post-Mother's Day story. Although this story is dedicated to former Highlander Mavericks Listsib Stacie Ferrence, this is also dedicated to my mother. Too bad my Mom never got to read it. If she knew that I was writing slash, she'd probably kill me. Still, the thought is there.

 

**CHAPTER ONE**

 

No one knew her real name. Everyone called her by the name she arrived with at the nursing home. If anyone should bother to find out, they'd have to check the thousands of files in the office of the director. But such a thing as one's real name was not important, especially if there was another one that already sufficed. A rose by any another name, after all, was still a rose. Besides, no one needed to call her. With the notable exception of meal and pills time, she mostly kept to herself, sitting beside the window of her room, even at the old home where she transferred from. The doctors and nurses thought she was suffering from the late stages of Alzheimer's Disease or even schizophrenia. Then again, many of the elderly have lapsed into this state of unresponsiveness, this catatonic stupor, when realizing that their loved ones had abandoned them.

       Maybe it was indeed more of Alzheimer's. She was having difficulty keeping her mind clear. At first, she thought it was the drugs. But then, she realized it was because of her advanced age. How old was she anyway? Even that she could not remember. Strange, that she could not remember a simple thing as her own age. However, her mind could clearly visualize rolling hills and majestic mountains and a cold breeze blowing against her face. Ironic, that during her long life, she had never been to the country at all. Certainly not the hills and mountains. As a child, she had gone to the beach. But never the highlands. So where did this memory, if she could call it that, come from? Still, she found comfort in that beautiful place she has dubbed Camelot, a sharp contrast to the harsh surroundings of this, her new home. 

       Take for example the decrepit three-storey building standing beside the nursing home; the only thing separating the two buildings was the narrow alley in between. From her solitary seat beside her Fifth Floor window, she could see everything that was going on in that filthy establishment. 

       What was this world coming to? That coherent thought surprised even her. Life was so simple back then. Before, people, especially the young ones, were taught to treat each other with respect. Before, honor was upheld above all else. Even the music was beautiful, so full of joy that one would enjoy singing or dancing to it.

       Everything that was wrong with the world lay inside that dilapidated building. Drug dealing, sometimes gun running... everything that was ugly existed within those rooms. 

       Just like now. As she watched in silence, she saw six rambunctious men run inside a room on the Third Floor, laughing. With them was a woman with beautiful long hair, wearing a coat. They were pushing her back and forth between them, like a ball. The men surrounded the woman, egging her on, clapping their hands. At first, the girl did not move. But the men were insistent, poking her body with greasy hands. Then, the girl slowly peeled off her coat, dancing as she did so. 

       A stripper, she thought in disgust. A harlot, like Salome.

       Strangely, this stripper was fully clothed, wearing a black sweater and tight jeans. One by one, her clothes came off, revealing a fine graceful body. When nothing was left, the prostitute hesitated to relinquish her coat. She held it over her bare form. One of the men became impatient and snatched it from her. He pulled her close to him and gave her a bruising kiss on the lips. When the man released the hooker at last, she gasped in surprise, seeing that the stripper was not female at all but another man. 

       Things started to get rowdy. Again, the men pushed him back and forth between them, like a rag doll, eager to cop a feel of those firm buttocks and kiss those lips. Their banter led them into the next room, for a moment, disappearing from view as the lights were closed.

       In the next instant, they were inside the bedroom. The stripper was standing on top of the bed, teasing the men surrounding him by evading their grasp. One man could no longer resist, grabbing the prostitute by the waist. Another man stood before him, plundering that luscious mouth with his lips.

       A grimace of disgust formed on her face. She had never seen anything so shameful in all her life. Sodomy was one thing, but an orgy? It astounded her how the stripper could handle all those men. At one moment, he was on his knees, the next he was lying on his back. And the things they did to him, not to mention the things they put inside him... Somehow, she found the will to shake her head in abhorrence.

       Quietly, she watched everything, although she wished she hadn't. Her eyeglasses were a bit blurry, but she could see just fine. She clearly remembered the faces of those men. However, she couldn't make out the stripper's face, hidden as it was in shadows. Most of all, she wanted to see the face of that sodomite. 

       It was the wee hours of the morn when the foul orgy ended. Yet, she was still awake. The coupled interest and disgust in the perversion that took place in the opposite building was a powerful stimulant that countered the effects of the tranquilizers that were given her.

       As she gazed down, the door to the building opened and the stripper stumbled out, clutching his coat tightly around his body. One of the men threw a bundle of money at his feet, waving a hushing finger before his lips. At first, the stripper shook his head, but later, he bent down and picked up the money. The man even kissed him on the lips.

       She watched as the stripper slowly made his way down the alleyway. To her surprise, he paused before the bonfire made by some winos. With a weak cry, he threw the money into the fire. A curious act indeed.

       Then, the prostitute looked up and her heart gave a lurch. That handsome, tear-filled face...it was someone familiar to her. Her heart told her that it was someone she had loved, and still did.

       They looked at each other for a moment, she unable to move. In the end, the stripper gave a forlorn shake of his head and ran out of the alley and into the dawn streets of the city.

       Even when he had gone, she was still badly shaken. She tried to probe her diminishing supply of memories for that face, but this image from the past was denied her. 

       Just as well, she concluded. Taking out her rosary made of crystal beads, she made the Sign of the Cross and kissed the gold crucifix. She didn't want to have anything to do with a filthy sinner. 


	2. Chapter 2

 

**CHAPTER TWO**

  
Three months later...

        Methos stood on the opposite side of Cambie Street, staring at the building that housed Charlie DeSalvo's Martial Arts Dojo. He trained his eyes up the brick facade, stopping at the top floor where he knew the Highlander's loft was at. He wondered if the Scot was there. Perhaps he was. From that distance, he could not sense the presence of an Immortal within. It's been a week since he arrived from Tibet, the days of that week spent keeping surveillance outside the dojo, not once thinking of walking through that door. But Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod remained inside, not once venturing outside, even to open the door. An evening call with the Scot's Watcher, Joe Dawson, merely confirmed what he already knew. Since he left three months ago, neither hide nor hair of the Highlander had been seen in Seacouver, not even a glimpse of his shadow.

       This self-imposed solitude.... Was it Methos' fault? The ancient wished it wasn't. However, he couldn't help but feel partly responsible. After all, wasn't it he who tried to force their relationship to a much deeper level?

       It started out as friendship. What was there not to like about this Highland Chieftain's son? Young, a mere child compared to him, handsome, with gorgeous puppy dog eyes that could make one weak at the knees with a mere look... For a man, Duncan's near perfect beauty never ceased to wreak havoc upon the Old Man's libido. He was also chivalrous to a fault, dashing protector of women and the helpless. A true innocent, Duncan viewed the world in two colors only -- black and white. In his eyes, a man was either good or evil, never possessing both a light and a dark side. He could not accept this simple truth in himself, even after the Dark Quickening. At first, he could not accept this in his friend, when secrets were revealed with the return of the Horsemen.

       Damn that witch Cassandra! She nearly ruined everything, with her scheming. Thankfully, in the end, it was the Scot's trust in his ancient friend that triumphed. He saw it clearly in Cassandra's eyes -- the shock of learning that her former ward would choose a hated enemy over her. Sorry, Cassandra, but the winner takes it all.

       Methos would look back many times at that moment in Bordeaux. There, in the darkness of the submarine base, he and the Highlander had been joined together by a spiral Quickening -- sharing thoughts, memories, and emotions so intense that, after, he had fallen to his knees. Had Duncan felt the desire he had for him? There was no doubt in Methos' mind that he had. Oh, he too felt the smidgen of attraction that the Scot held for him. But it was wishful thinking on his part that they could both give in to the mutual attraction they obviously felt for each other. After all, the Highlander was probably the most "straight" male he had encountered in his 5,000-years of life. Then again, there was no harm in trying, was there? Besides, there's a much stronger emotion than desire, namely curiosity. The seeds of that curiosity had been planted during the spiral Quickening. It was up to him to nurture it and see it grow.

       It hadn't been easy. Like him, Duncan had an iron will that could hold back the temptation of curiosity. With persistence, he managed to chip through that will an inch at a time. It amazed him how so like a woman the Scot was. When he had brought a bouquet of roses to grace the Highlander's desk, Methos had caught Duncan taking a blissful whiff of the scent of a rosebud while he fixed the blossoms in a vase. Arriving early for an invitation for dinner, he found the younger Immortal puttering around in the kitchen area, the dinner table already set with a candlestick in the center and a bottle of cold champagne in an ice bucket. Sometimes, exhilarating games of chess were no longer played at the living room table but on Duncan's bed. Methos loved watching Duncan as he contemplated a move -- those full lips pursed in a pout, lying on his belly with his legs raised behind him, that taut ass molded to alluring perfection by his tight jeans. The ancient knew he had the same effect on the Scot because, at certain points during the game, he would catch Duncan watching him. When that happened, dots of red would color his cheeks and he would lower his gaze, but not before batting an eyelash at the older man.

       It was during one such game that Methos could no longer resist the urge. Seeing the frown of concentration on the Highlander's brow, he made up his mind. Before he knew he was doing it, he had given Duncan a sweet peck on the cheek. Both men had blanched at that gentle caress of lips. But then, a shy smile curled up the corners of the Scot's full mouth. Raising his head, those tantalizing lips pursed before the ancient's startled green gold orbs, Duncan closed his eyes. Methos just found himself closing his eyes as well, leaning forward, as he kissed Duncan once more, that caress of lips deepening. When he pulled away, there was a blush on the Highlander's cheeks, the tips of his fingers laid over his lips. At first, Methos was speechless.

       It was Duncan who spoke. "That was nice, Methos."

       "Nice?" asked Methos in turn.

       That blush turned into a deeper red. "No, it was more than nice. It was wonderful."

       After that, as the days passed, they shared not just kisses, but the tender touches that would have served as the initiators of that ecstatic joining of flesh. However, as much as he wanted to sink his aching rod into the blazing furnace of the Scot's body, Methos took his time. He didn't want to rush things. Besides, he found joy in that simple pressing of lips and the heated exploration of the younger Immortal's clothed form. He knew what a virtue patience was. When the time came for him to perform that pleasure with the Highlander, he knew he would not be disappointed. 

       So it was that, one day, Methos' heart literally burst into song when Duncan told him what he had been waiting to hear.

       "Methos, I..I uh...could you come over to the loft tonight?" Duncan had timidly asked when he called the ancient up. "I...I want...I think I'm ready."

       That was an invitation that the Old Man would never turn down. But unfortunately, to his bitter disappointment, he had to reset for the following day, on account of the Watchers meeting that evening. 

       Still, on that fateful day itself, Methos took his time. Not the type of person to "pretty" himself for a date, the ancient went out of his way to look special -- new sweater, tight denims with nothing underneath, and a new cologne. He even went to the wine shop to buy a bottle of champagne. As an afterthought, he also bought the most expensive chocolate in the candy store.

       Arriving at the Cambie Street establishment, however, Methos was greeted by the unexpected. He was surprised to find that there was no light up in the loft. It was pitch black. The Scot even turned off the lift that the only way he could go up was by the stairs. When he reached the Fourth Floor, Methos had to knock several times before the door opened and the Highlander's doe eyes peered through the crack, above the chain that kept the door in place.

       "Hi, Mac! Sorry I'm late!" Methos greeted, though his heart pounded in apprehension. He raised the champagne and the chocolate so that the younger man could see them. "Candygram!"

       What the Highlander said next caused the ancient's heart to sink through a hole in the floor. "I'm sorry too, Methos, but I cannot see you. Not now, not ever."

       "What do you mean?"

       "This is a mistake. I should never have...I can't, Methos. I'm not ready. I don't think I'll ever be ready."

       "You won't know unless you try." The Old Man begged, "Duncan, please. I swear I won't hurt you."

       "Methos, I can't! I'm sorry! I didn't want to lead you on like this, but..." Duncan wailed then. "I can't! I just can't!"

       At that rejection, Methos gave in to his frustration. With a furious cry, he kicked the door open and stormed inside. Duncan, who was dressed in a black terrycloth robe, cowered from the angry Immortal. The ancient, however, yanked him back, the chocolate and the champagne falling to the floor, the glass of the bottle breaking. Fiercely, Methos kissed the younger man, keeping him trapped in his strong arms. Duncan struggled in vain to free himself.

       When the Old Man released him, the Highlander slapped Methos in the face. Seeing red sparks before his eyes, the ancient reacted, hitting Duncan so hard that the Scot fell to his hands and knees. Duncan let out a feeble, hoarse cry as glass splinters cut into his palms. Methos' eyes widened in shock as the Highlander raised his hands, the jagged pieces of glass protruding from his palms. 

       He got down on his knees to help the younger man, but Duncan snatched his hands back, screaming, "DON'T TOUCH ME!" At once, Methos recoiled from the obvious revulsion in the young Immortal's words and gestures. Realizing what he had done, the Scot looked at the ancient in guilt and sorrow, "Oh, Methos! I'm sorry!"

       Methos' lips formed a grim line. "I'm sorry too. Goodbye, MacLeod! Don't expect to see me again!" He then stood up and strode out the door, slamming it shut behind him, not once looking back.

       His will was weak, however. Three months later, here he was, standing at the corner of Cambie like a lovelorn fool, pining away for the young Immortal who was hiding inside the loft. 

       _If I could see him, even just this once..._ Methos thought wistfully.

       Suddenly, to his surprise, the distinct vibration of an Immortal's presence jarred his nerves. Then, in answer to his wish, the door of the dojo opened and the Highlander stepped outside. Duncan was dressed in a blue silk shirt and slacks, underneath the tan duster he always wore. In his hands, the Scot was carrying books. Duncan was turning his head left and right, trying to find the Immortal he had sensed. As he looked forward, it was then that their eyes met. Methos saw Duncan's lips part. For a moment, he thought that the younger man would call him. Instead, Duncan quickly lowered his gaze and ran down the street. The ancient hurried after him, but the Highlander swiftly hailed a taxi and got inside. Before Methos could catch him, the cab sped off. 

       The ancient gazed grimly at the taxi. He could see Duncan peering at him through the windshield at the back. 

       Anger and bitterness welled up inside his heart at that rejection. "If that's the way you want it," Methos muttered, "fine!"

       ~~~~~

       "It's good to see you again, Mr. MacLeod," Mrs. Betty Palmer, the director of the Sunny Acres Nursing Home, greeted the Highlander. "Our residents missed you these past three months. I hope you are well now."

       "I'm fine, Mrs. Palmer, and, yes, I missed everyone here too," Duncan answered in all sincerity. "How is everyone, by the way?"

       "We've lost a couple of our residents -- you remember Grandpa Leo and Mother Lily? They passed away a month ago."

       "I'm so sorry to hear that. I never even got to finish reading 'Robinson Crusoe' for Grandpa Leo."

       Mrs. Palmer admitted, "Things are not going well for the nursing home right now. We're closing down in a few months, maybe even sooner. Without the funding, we can't sustain the operations any longer. Only your generous donations have kept us going, but it's not enough anymore and we don't want to impose too much on you. You've done so much for us already."

       "What's going to happen to the folks?" the Scot asked in concern. 

       "We've talked to many of the families and they have transferred their elderly to other nursing homes. As of now, we only have ten residents left, just waiting to be transferred. My greatest concern, however, is one of our grandmothers."

       "Why? Is something wrong?"

       "She was transferred to us from another home on that last day that you visited us, before you fell ill. You haven't seen her, busy as you were keeping Grandpa Leo preoccupied. But I think I told you that she has a history of mental illness."

       Duncan nodded. If he recalled correctly, this particular resident was catatonic.

       "The poor woman doesn't have any family. She always sits beside her bedroom window, staring outside, not saying anything. I just don't have the heart to send her to the mental institution, but no nursing home would take her. I was hoping that someone would adopt her, but..." Mrs. Palmer laughed wryly. "Who would want to adopt a little old lady anyway?"

       "May I see her, Mrs. Palmer?" Duncan queried. "I think she's the one who would need a little cheering up."

       The nursing home director smiled. "That is so sweet of you, Mr. MacLeod! Come with me."

       Together, they went up via the lift. Before, they used the stairs to give the residents full use of the lift. Their usage of the elevator now was a grim indication of how bad things had become in the nursing home. They emerged on the Second Floor.

       Mrs. Palmer explained, "She used to stay in the room on the Fifth Floor. But when everyone started leaving, I moved her here. Good thing! I never wanted her to stay in that dreadful room." The kindly director snorted in disgust. "She could see the terrible goings-on at the building across the alley."

       Duncan couldn't speak. He knew all too well what those "goings-on" were at the building across the alley, and he didn't want to remember. However, although he forced his mind to become blank, his heart thumped rapidly. For a moment, Duncan felt faint that he clutched his books tightly to his chest.

       "Are you all right, Mr. MacLeod?" he suddenly heard Mrs. Palmer query.

       "I'm fine, Mrs. Palmer," Duncan gave her a reassuring smile. "Just felt a little dizzy for a moment there. Let's go. I really want to meet her."

       Mrs. Palmer smiled again as she opened a door, greeting cheerfully, "Good morning, Grandma! You have a visitor!", as she walked in.

       Following inside, the Highlander found himself standing in a quaint little room. The wallpaper was decorated with daisies. There was a low bed so that the resident could easily climb into it. On standby were an IV stand and a desk with a first aid tray. At the far corner was a door leading to the bathroom. But it was the figure sitting on the wheelchair beside the window that caught Duncan's eyes.

       She was a small woman, probably around eighty years old. Her grayish blond hair was tied in a neat bun at the back of her head. Her light blue eyes stared down at the children playing in the park. In her hands, she held a rosary with crystal beads connected to each other by gold links, with a gold crucifix at the end.

       "Grandma?" The nursing home director got down to her knees and peered into the woman's unresponsive eyes. "I have a surprise visitor here for you. This is Mr. MacLeod. He reads stories to our wonderful folks here, and he would like to tell you a story as well. He's been gone for three months because he's been sick. So now, he wants to make it up to you by telling you a tale."

       The woman, however, did not answer. She simply stared out into space.

       Turning to Duncan, Mrs. Palmer said, "She's always like this. But don't worry, Mr. MacLeod. She could hear you. Just read to her. I'm sure she'll love it."

       Duncan nodded, unable to get his eyes off the frail woman in her wheelchair. 

       Mesmerized as he was, the Scot did not hear Mrs. Palmer declare, "I'll leave you two alone then." Before he could ask what the woman's name was, the director was gone.

       Sighing, Duncan pulled up a chair and sat before the woman. "What do you want me to read for you, Grandma?" he asked politely, a warm smile on his lips as he gazed into her face. "I've brought a lot of books today. Surely you don't want something serious? Do you want me to read a romance story for you? No, I think poetry would be better."

       Duncan laid the rest of his books down on the floor, leaving the book of poetry on his lap. Opening it, he said, "Let me read you one of my favorites."

       Settling down, the Highlander began to speak, putting his heart into the poem and the others he chose at random from inside the book. Often, he would peer at the woman before him, but there was no response. Whatever she saw outside the window probably interested her more than the poetry.

       Soon, as it usually happens now, Duncan started to lose himself to what he was reading. Nothing existed for him except the poetry on the page -- not his surroundings and certainly not the woman in the armchair.

       So it was that the Scot did not notice that the woman's eyes blinked, not once but twice. Slowly, she turned her head to stare at the young man reading before her. There was a frown on her brow as she looked at him. She had seen this handsome young man before. But where? Already, her heart was pounding in her chest, forcing the blood up into her feeble brain. However, what her mind focused on were rolling green hills and mountains and the cold mountain breeze blowing against her face. But this time, more images followed -- a small village in the Highlands. She was laying her wash on the line to dry, many of them kilts that had been carefully mended. 

       _These men..._ she thought, clucking her tongue. _They could never take care of their clothing._

       Then, one of the kilts was jerked to the side, revealing a grinning, mischievous face. She grimaced, seeing that his kilt was torn again. But she couldn't scold the smiling figure before her, mesmerized as she was by that beautiful face -- those full, soft, almost girlish, lips, those lovely brown doe eyes and the long brown hair that fluttered in the wind behind him. Such a bonny young man he was, like...

       Like this man sitting before her, reading a poem to her. He looked so much like the man in her failing memories. Peering at him closely, she gasped. When he gazed at her, a reassuring smile on his face, this only confirmed what she had just realized -- that this young man was the SAME man in her memories. This man was...

       Duncan looked at the woman with concern. He had heard her soft gasp and he was surprised to find her staring at him. He saw the realization dawn on her face, tears of joy welling up in her eyes. Before Duncan knew what was happening, the woman was reaching out to him. 

       "Grandma..." he said hesitantly.

       "My son!" she stammered, her voice hoarse with disuse. "I never thought I'd see you again! But it is you! My sweet son!"

       "Grandma, I think you're mistaken."

       "No! I know it's you!" the woman insisted. Cupping his face in her gnarled hands, she sobbed, "How could I forget this face, this face that had brought me so much joy?"

       "But, Grandma, I'm not who you think I am!"

       Then, the woman declared, "Duncan! My bonny Duncan! It's been so long!"

       The Scot felt his blood run cold. His mind went back to Mrs. Palmer's introduction earlier and he was certain that the director did not call him by his first name. So how could this woman know his name?

       "But...but...I don't know...I don't remember..." he stuttered in utter confusion.

       Duncan just found himself enfolded in loving arms. He could smell the faint scent of wild flowers on her skin, her tears dripping on his cheeks. 

       "Curse your father who had banished you from my life!" she whispered as she lovingly ran her fingers through his hair. "I knew you were not a demon! Though I did not bear you from loins, you are my son, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."

       "But...but...I don't know...Grandma, I don't know you!" the Highlander stammered, not knowing what to say.

       The woman laughed lightly. "We have time to blame for that. It's been far too long that we've been apart. Now, here you are, and I swear I will never let you go again. Because I'm your mother, my Bonny Prince. Your loving mother...Mary MacLeod."


	3. Chapter 3

 

**CHAPTER THREE**

 

       Methos was supposed to be taking a short afternoon nap, but sleep would not come to him. His mind was playing a most perverse trick of bombarding him with images of Duncan MacLeod. It's been a mere two days since he caught a glimpse of the Highlander and he had already been reduced to a lovesick fool -- unable to eat nor sleep.

       The ancient twisted and turned in his bed, slamming his pillow over his face. Groaning, he muttered, "I'm getting too old for this."

       Which was why when the telltale aura of an Immortal's presence rattled his overwrought nerves, he was galvanized into action. Methos snatched his Ivanhoe from the floor, leaped out of bed and ran for the door. Without thinking twice, he yanked the door open and swung his sword.

       That surprised cry caused the Old Man to check his swing at once. He stared in shock and disbelief at the person standing at his doorway.

       Duncan stood frozen in place, wide brown eyes blinking at the flashing steel hovering an inch above his neck.

       "I see that I've disturbed you," the Scot stammered nervously, clutching his books to his chest. "Forgive me."

       Turning on his heels, Duncan scurried down the hallway from where he came.

       "MacLeod, wait!" Methos went after the younger man. But the Highlander had quickened his pace. Undaunted, the ancient broke into a run. Before Duncan could reach the lift, Methos grabbed his arm. "Where do you think you're going?"

       There was a deep blush on Duncan's cheeks, unable to look the Old Man straight in the eye. "Methos...you're naked!"

       "So?" The ancient snorted in derision. "I just wanted to show you what you've been missing these past three months."

       At once, the red color disappeared from the Scot's face. But he quickly regained his composure and said hotly, "Looks like I didn't miss a thing."

       Before Duncan could storm off, Methos laid his hands on the younger man's shoulders and hustled him back to his apartment, ignoring the Highlander's cries of protest. Reaching the apartment, Methos led Duncan inside, locking the door behind them.

       "To what do I owe the honor of this visit?" Methos asked dryly.

       "You're still naked," stated Duncan point blank. "Aren't you going to put on any clothes?"

       With a groan of exasperation, the ancient stomped towards his bed and snatched his robe from the headboard. When he had put it on and tied the sash around his waist, he declared, "There! Satisfied now?"

       Duncan shook his head. "This is a mistake. I shouldn't have come."

       "Well, you're here now." Methos settled down on the settee. "Might as well spit it out."

       Despite his initial hesitation, the true purpose of his visit overwhelmed his reluctance over meeting the Old Man again. Duncan just found himself taking the armchair opposite the ancient. Still, he had his books close to his chest, like a shield, a gesture that Methos thought curious.

       There was keen interest in the Highlander's voice as he queried, "Methos, do you believe in reincarnation?"

       That question caught Methos off-guard. "You're talking about the Hindu belief that a soul is reborn in another body."

       "Yes," Duncan nodded eagerly. "Is it true? Does reincarnation really exist?"

       The ancient cocked an eyebrow up. "Why are you asking me this?"

       "I...uh...I just want the benefit of your experience."

       "And I thought this was a social call." Methos urged, "MacLeod, come on! Tell me. Why the sudden interest in reincarnation?"

       With a great reluctance, the Scot admitted, "Two days ago, I met this old lady at the Sunny Acres Nursing Home. I'm one of their regular donors and I've been spending time with the old residents, reading them stories and poetry. This lady...she's been catatonic since she arrived at the home three months ago. I was reading her poetry when she...she just woke up."

       "Good for you, MacLeod!" Methos said, with a hint of sarcasm. He wondered if he was about to listen to one of the Highlander's exploits of saintly goodness.

       "Please let me finish!" Duncan begged him. Now, the desperation was obvious in his voice.

       Nodding, Methos urged him, "All right, go on."

       "When she awoke," the younger man continued, "she began saying things...about my past, particularly my youth in Glenfinnan. She knew everything -- how I had cried when I had scraped my knee, how I always copied my father's movements during sword practice when I was but three-years old, how, even as a child, I was already deeply in love with Debra Campbell. She even called me by my pet name...'Bonny Prince'." Duncan gazed at the ancient. "Methos, she said she's my mother, Mary MacLeod."

       "And you believe her." It was a statement, not a question.

       "I don't know. I honestly don't." Duncan buried his face in his hands. "This...this incident...it couldn't have come at a worse time."

       The ancient frowned. "Why do you say that?"

       There was a sharp, accusatory edge in Methos' voice that caused the Scot to look up. Shaking his head, Duncan got to his feet. "I knew this was a mistake. I'm sorry I bothered you."

       Before the younger Immortal could reach the door, Methos stood up as well. "Wait, Duncan!" The Highlander turned wary doe eyes toward him. "Don't go. Please stay."

       "I...I know that our...separation...has not been amicable," Duncan said softly. "I know that I hurt your feelings, and I'm truly sorry for that. But I still consider you a very dear friend. And I...I really, really need a friend right now. Methos? Couldn't we go back to being just that? Friends? Please?"

       Silence fell between the two men. Breathing in deeply, the ancient replied, "Duncan, you know damned well how I feel about you. Although you have hurt me deeply, you know that I can't NOT help you."

       "Are you saying that I'm a user? If you don't want to help me, I'm not forcing you to."

       "Oh, but I DO want to help." Methos gave the younger Immortal a firm gaze. "This time, however, I want something in return."

       "Let me guess! You want the barge again."

       The ancient burst into laughter at that answer. "Now, what would I want with that old tug?" He looked at Duncan meaningfully. "I think you know damned well what I want, MacLeod."

       Hearing that last, there was a sorrowful, almost haunted, expression on the Scot's face, something the Old Man couldn't understand. He had only seen that look before in people who had suffered greatly or lost everything.

       "Methos..." the Highlander began reluctantly, "I'm sure you've heard that saying about being careful what you wish for..."

       "Or I'll get what I deserve? Mac, I know what I'm wishing for and I know what I'm getting."

       "Do you?" Duncan sighed in weary surrender, lowering his head. "Very well, we have a deal. I just thought I'd warn you, that's all. I don't want you to get disappointed."

       Methos walked towards the young man. "Believe me, MacLeod. I don't think I'll be disappointed." Placing his hands on those tense arms, the ancient pulled Duncan close to kiss him, but the Highlander flinched and turned his face away.

       "Don't, Methos," begged Duncan. "Please."

       With great reluctance, the Old Man released the Scot. "All right then. After. What is it you want me to do?"

       "Help me find out if she is who she says she is," the Highlander answered. "I want to know if she's really my mother."

       ~~~~~

"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.  
He makes me lie down in green pastures.  
He leads me beside the still waters.   
He restores my soul.  
He guides me through the paths of righteousness  
for his name's sake.

Although I walk through the valley   
of the shadow of death,  
I fear no evil,  
for you are beside me.  
Your rod and your staff  
are there to comfort me.

You prepare a table before me  
in the presence of my foes.  
You anoint my head with oil;  
my cup is overflowing.

Goodness and kindness will follow me  
all the days of my life;  
I shall dwell in the house of the Lord  
as long as I live."

  
       As Duncan slowly closed his Bible, he heard Grandma Mary give a pleased sigh. "That was beautiful! Never have I imagined that my Bonny Prince would read God's words to me, and recite them so wonderfully!"

       A blush rose on the Scot's cheeks. "Thank you, Grandma Mary! Coming from you, that's a great compliment!"

       She looked at the young man curiously. "Why don't you call me 'Ma' or 'Mama', like you used to?"

       Duncan didn't know what to say, afraid to hurt the old lady's feelings. But a gentle hand caressed his cheek.

       "I understand, Duncan," Grandma Mary said reassuringly, smiling. "I know how much I've changed." She gave a light laugh. "When I look in the mirror, I don't recognize myself. It's a different face I see. But it doesn't matter." Kissing the Highlander on the forehead, she whispered, "I have found my beloved son again!"

       Duncan took her hands in his grasp, caressing the wrinkled fingers gently. "Grandma, I must admit this is very difficult for me."

       Sadness crossed Grandma Mary's features. "What must I do to make you believe me?"

       "You don't have to do anything. All I just need is time."

       "And time is what I don't have, but it's all right." Tears glistened in her eyes. "To see you again, to hear you speak, to listen to the beautiful words that come from the pages of your books, I am satisfied."

       "I've hurt your feelings." He squeezed her hand tenderly. "Please don't cry, Grandma."

       "I'm fine, Duncan," she told the Immortal. "You get maudlin in your old age." Grandma Mary glanced down at the children playing in the park, their mothers watching over them. "Sometimes, when I gaze out my window, I am surprised by how much the world has changed. Life was so simple back then in Glenfinnan. In my old room, I saw a place of nightmares, of cruelty and perversions."

       The Highlander was taken aback by that last. "Perversions?"

       Rather than expound further, Grandma Mary shook her head. "I don't want to remember. I shudder to even think about it. I'm glad I was given this new room." She looked at Duncan. "How do you survive this, my Bonny Prince?"

       Duncan gave a small shrug. "I don't know," he said, breathing in deeply. "A day at a time, I suppose. There are moments when time seems to move so swiftly. The wonders I've seen as the years...the centuries...passed... One of the perks of Immortality, I guess. It just whirls the mind thinking how these marvels came to be when they didn't exist before. There are moments when I would wish that time would just stand still to let me breathe, or that I were back in Glenfinnan." The Scot didn't know why, but somehow he felt comfortable telling this old woman about his life as an Immortal. To his surprise, Grandma Mary certainly did not show any fear when he revealed to her what he was. It seemed as if, right from the start, she knew what he was.

       "Haven't you visited our little village?"

       "Over a year ago. But I didn't stay long." With hesitation, Duncan admitted, "I felt like a stranger in my own land, and there were too many painful memories."

       "Aye!" agreed Grandma Mary in all sincerity. "It broke my heart when your father banished you. I cannot count the number of times I had railed at him, 'How dare you call your son a demon! Have you forgotten what he meant to you, that he was once that loving boy whom you sat on your knee and called you 'Father'? Did you not feel the purity of his heart and soul?' Stubborn, superstitious fool! He never listened to me. However, I never gave up hope that someday I would see you again." A wry laugh escaped her lips. "It had to be at his death. After I gave you your father's sword, when you went to avenge his death at the hands of Kanwulf the Destroyer, I prayed for your safe return. You are, after all, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, the Chieftain's heir, and Glenfinnan is your rightful home. But what should I find in the wee hours of the morn at my doorstep? Your father's claymore. Of my Bonny Prince, there was no trace, as though you were indeed a ghost that vanished with the will-o'-the-wisp. I wasn't even able to say goodbye to you or kiss you, as a mother should. I waited and waited and waited, but you never came back, even when I lay on my deathbed. But my heart remained full of hope. With my dying breath, I swore that I would find you." A beautiful smile formed on her lips, cupping Duncan's face in her hands. "And I have! I found my Bonny Prince again!"

       "Grandma Mary, the things you've been telling me..." the Scot began hesitantly. "I want to believe you, but..."

       "Let not your eyes trick you, Duncan," Grandma Mary advised him. "Listen to your heart."

       Duncan just found himself embracing her tightly, as tears welled up in his eyes. "My heart... I don't know how I feel anymore. These past few months have been so...hard...for me. It is so difficult to trust. I'm afraid, Grandma Mary. I'm so afraid."

       "What is there to be afraid of?" the old woman asked him. "You are Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod! You are a great warrior!"

       A choked sob escaped his lips. "I don't think I deserve to call myself by that name any longer."

       "Nonsense! You are the son of the Chieftain of the Clan MacLeod! You have lived a life that only a few men dreamed of and survived it. Duncan, you are deserving of that name, and I shall persist in telling you that until you believe it. I am, after all, your mother, and a mother KNOWS her son. Wear that name with honor and pride, Duncan. No one else deserves it, except you."

       At once, the tears started to fall down his cheeks, his heart stung by her words. As the shame threatened to overwhelm him once more, Duncan clung to Grandma Mary's words like a lifeline. At least, there was still someone who believed in him, although he no longer believed in himself.


	4. Chapter 4

 

**CHAPTER FOUR**

 

         Through narrowed eyes, Methos peered at the young Highlander seated before him at the table. Duncan was leaning forward, his wide brown orbs showing his keen interest. Unlike before, however, the Scot did not lay his arms on the table. Instead, they were wrapped tightly around the Bible pressed close to his heart. To Methos, that leather-bound tome looked like a small shield protecting the Highlander's precious virtue from the lascivious attentions of the evil Horseman.

        With a trace of irritation, the ancient declared, "MacLeod, won't you relax? I'm not going to bite you."

        Duncan's response was not what he expected. Looking at the older man warily, he asked, "You're not going to try anything funny now, are you?"

        "I am considering kissing you a little later," Methos said frankly.

        "What if I don't want to?"

        "I could always call off the deal."

        "But...but that wouldn't work to your benefit."

        "True, but neither will you get the information you seek." The Old Man grinned slyly. "Believe me, Duncan, you're the one who's getting the better deal out of our arrangement."

        Methos loved the way the Scot's lips pursed into a pout as he fell into deep thought. With a resigned exhalation, Duncan slowly laid the book on the table, but then placed his clasped hands on his lap in seeming demurity.

        Seeing that it was hopeless to get the younger man to relax, Methos sighed and opened his small notebook.

        "Her name is Elizabeth Ann Krause," the ancient began. "She was born in upstate New York, date of birth not listed. But her age was placed between 80 and 90. Everything else in her records are just pure hearsay. Single -- she never married, Mrs. Krause reportedly moved to Seacouver twenty years ago to live with a younger sister, who's also a spinster. The neighbors had said they didn't notice anything peculiar about her. Then again, she was rarely seen, preferring to stay inside the house. Five years ago, her sister died of cancer. The neighbors believed that it was the grief that caused her stroke. They found Mrs. Krause inside their home, crying and speaking gibberish. When she was taken to the St. Patrick's Home for the Aged, she lapsed into a catatonic stupor. She remained that way until she was transferred to Sunny Acres, after St. Patrick's burned down in a fire. Mrs. Krause has been living in Sunny Acres for the past three months."

        With finality, Methos closed his notebook.

        Duncan stared at the older man, waiting. When the ancient did not continue, he found himself complaining, "Is that all?"

        "That's it," said Methos.

        "But...it's not enough. Does it say anything about Scotland? Is she Scottish? Has she been to the Highlands?"

        "No, no and no. First of all, Mrs. Krause is Jewish."

        "If she's Jewish, why does she have a rosary?"

        "I'm just reading the facts I got from her records. That rosary was listed among her personal effects. No one knows where she got it. As far as everyone knows, she's never been to Scotland, having spent most of her life in New York and then Seacouver."

        "But...but...there has to be more!" It distressed the Scot to hear himself whining like this.

        Methos, however, simply repeated, "That's it."

        Silence fell between the two men. They just sat in their chairs, staring at each other. Rather than speak, Methos gave the Highlander a mischievous wink.

        That small movement jolted Duncan into action. He quickly grabbed his Bible and hugged it to him, his knuckles turning white from that fierce grip.

        Turning pleading eyes to Methos, he asked, "Do we have to...you know... Do we really, really have to do this?"

        "We have a deal, don't we?" Methos reminded him.

        "But...but...it's not enough!"

        "Short of hypnotizing her, I don't know what else I could do."

        There was a hopeful smile on Duncan's face, and it was definitely not at the prospect of the ancient's hypnotizing Mrs. Krause. "That's a great idea!"

        Methos looked at the Scot curiously. "Why do I get the feeling that you're not looking forward to fulfilling your end of the deal?"

        "Of course I am!" Duncan said defensively. "But I want to be sure I get MY end of the deal as well."

        The Old Man let out a sigh. "Are you sure that's the real reason?" he asked softly. 

        To the Highlander's surprise, Methos got down on one knee before him and grasped his hands gently. "Duncan, what's wrong? Is it because of me? I won't hurt you. You know that."

        The ancient raised his hand to stroke the Scot's cheek but Duncan flinched. Methos at once remembered how he had struck the younger man that fateful night three months ago. He pulled his hand back. 

        "I guess it is me after all."

        "No!" Duncan hastily countered, shaking his head. "No, it's not you! It's just that...I can't...I'm afraid...God, I don't know!" 

        There was great anguish in the Highlander's voice that startled the older Immortal. Although in his heart he truly didn't want to, Methos proposed, "If this is difficult for you, we could call this deal off."

        Methos just found strong, desperate arms embracing his neck. "No, no, I don't want to!" Duncan cried. "I have to know, Methos. I have to know if she's my mother. I'll do anything! Please! Please, you must help me!"

        "I don't want to think that I'm taking advantage of you."

        "I'm the one who's taking advantage of your kindness." Duncan released the older man, eyes closing. "And you're wrong, Methos. It's not because of you. I know you won't hurt me. I trust you."

        "Then, what's wrong, Duncan? If you trust me, you'll tell me what it is that you're so afraid of."

        "Because...because..." As the Highlander's eyelids fluttered open, tears started falling down his cheeks. "Because I don't want you to be disappointed in me, for not living up to your expectations! Because I don't want to hurt you!"

        Saying this, Duncan stood up and ran for the door. Before he could leave, Methos' call stopped him. "Mac, wait!" 

        The Scot didn't look back. But he heard the ancient's words clearly.

        "I'll help you, Duncan, because I love you," Methos said firmly. "And I will wait...until you're ready to tell me what it is that's troubling you. I'm always here for you. Remember that."

        Without saying a word, the young Immortal strode out of the Old Man's apartment. As he closed the door behind him, Duncan leaned weakly against the wall, crying, hand clapped over his mouth.

        _I love you too, Methos!_ he sobbed bitterly, as he fled down the hallway. _God, you don't know how much I love you!_

        ~~~~~

        It was almost eleven o'clock in the evening as Duncan raced through the dark streets of Seacouver, heading for the Sunny Acres Nursing Home. The T-Bird had conked out five blocks up the street that he had no choice but to go the rest of the way on foot. The Scot's pupils were dilated with fear as he eyed the decrepit buildings surrounding him. This was not a good place to be at night.

        To his relief, however, he saw the lit facade of the home at the corner. Before he could reach it, a whistle stopped the Highlander dead in his tracks.

        "Well, well, look who's here!" a voice declared from the building he was standing right beside.

        "Missed us, sweet cheeks?" another spoke up, with a smack of his lips. "Come for a visit?"

        That jolted Duncan into action. He dashed down the sidewalk, not daring to look back, though he could hear footsteps following him. Panic-stricken, he took the front stairs of the home three steps at a time. The Scot barged through the door and slammed it shut behind him, his eyes closing as well. He stood there for a long moment, panting for breath, his whole body shaking. When he opened his eyes once more, he saw Mrs. Palmer and the night attendant, a big Black man named Zeke, staring at him.

        "Mr. MacLeod!" Mrs. Palmer exclaimed. "Are you all right? You're so pale!"

        Taking a deep breath to calm his rattled nerves, Duncan replied, "I'm fine. My car broke down and I had to run the rest of the way over here." He looked at the director in concern, remembering the cause of his late night visit. "Where is she?"

        As they strode towards the lift, Zeke explained, "She's in her room, Mr. MacLeod. Alan is with her now. I think Grandma Mary had a bad dream. She just woke up screaming. We tried to give her a sedative to calm her down, but she grabbed the top part of the IV stand and started waving it around, threatening to hit us. She was furious, shouting nonsense stuff at us."

        The lift opened and they went inside. Mrs. Palmer continued, "The only thing we could understand from what she was saying was your name -- 'Duncan.' We're afraid that she might be suffering from some kind of violent seizure. It's been a difficult day for her. Our remaining residents were transferred to new nursing homes, and Grandma Mary was left all alone. She's been looking for you the whole day."

        Duncan felt a twinge of guilt in his heart. The reason why he wasn't able to visit was because he was at Methos' apartment. "I had business to attend to. If only I had known..."

        As they emerged on the Second Floor, they were greeted by angry cries. The Scot felt his hair stand on end, for those furious screams were in Gaelic.

        "Beasts of Satan!" the Highlander could clearly hear Grandma Mary's outraged shout. "I will not let you harm a single hair on my bonny son's head!"

        Running to the old lady's room, Duncan was shocked to find Grandma Mary standing precariously on wobbly feet, the footboard of the bed the only thing giving her support. She was flailing the IV stand at the other attendant, Alan, who was unable to get near her.

        "Grandma Mary, stop it!" he exclaimed in English, walking towards her. "You're going to hurt yourself!"

        "Stay away, demon!" the old woman shrieked in that foreign tongue, enraged. "You stay away from my son!"

        "Grandma, it's all right!" Duncan said placatingly, raising his hand to her. "I'm here now! Things are going to be fine!"

        But then, Grandma Mary swung the IV stand. The metal bar connected with the Scot's left arm, causing him to cry out in pain. As he fell to his knees, right hand clutching his aching arm, the name he couldn't bring himself to call the old lady just escaped from his lips.

        "MAMA! IT'S A BAD DREAM!" Duncan cried out in Gaelic, peering up at her through eyes misted with tears of pain. "MAMA, PLEASE WAKE UP! IT'S ME -- DUNCAN!"

        Grandma Mary shook her head to clear the frightening haze of her nightmare. She let out a horrified gasp, the metal bar falling out of her hand, as she beheld the Scot writhing at her feet.

        "OH SWEET MARY!" she exclaimed. Getting down on her knees before him, Grandma Mary raised apologetic hands to him. "My Prince! I have injured my Bonny Prince!"

        "It's all right, Mama," Duncan reassured her. "The pain is going away."

        "I've had a most terrible dream! I was in Donan Woods, when I saw six wolves. Those wolves...they were chasing you. I tried to catch up, but they were too fast for me. When I reached the clearing, the wolves...those beasts of the Devil...they were tearing you to pieces. You were screaming in agony, begging me to help you. I grabbed a branch and started hitting those wolves with it. I tried so hard. But they would not let you go!"

        The Highlander held her clammy hands, warming them in his grasp. "Hush, Mama! It was just a nightmare. As you can see, I am fine."

        There was a frown on Mrs. Palmer's brow as she listened, uncomprehendingly, to their exchange. Although she was aching to interrupt, she decided not to. Seeing that Duncan has everything under control, she waved to the two attendants that they should leave the room. Taking one glance at the young man and his elderly ward, Mrs. Palmer closed the door quietly behind her.

        Tears were streaming down Grandma Mary's cheeks as she held the Scot's face in her hands. "I beg you, my Bonny Prince! Please do not leave me here all alone! I cannot bear the thought of being away from you! That dream...it is an evil portent. I must be at your side to protect you, as I have not been able to do when your father banished you from the clan."

        "But, Mama, I cannot! You're not..." Duncan bit down on his tongue before the words could spill out. _You're not my real mother!_

        To his shock, Grandma Mary bowed low before him, her forehead touching the floor. "Mama, what are you doing? Please get up!" he exclaimed, helping the old woman up.

        "Duncan, I beg you!" she sobbed. "I don't want to stay in this horrible place. Just the thought of you walking out there...alone, with the wolves...it terrifies me!"

        The Highlander embraced her, running a comforting hand up and down her back. Closing his eyes, he remembered those voices from the building beside the home. 

        _"Missed us, sweet cheeks?"_

        Grandma Mary was right. There ARE wolves out there.

        As tears spilled from his eyes, Duncan said soothingly, "I'll see what I can do."

        ~~~~~

        It was 1:00 am when Mrs. Palmer decided to go up to check on Grandma Mary. She was also hoping she could invite Duncan MacLeod to share a cup of coffee with her in the kitchen. When she had contacted him at his home, the young man had been so frightened for the old woman. It was apparent on the pallor of his face when he barged through the door of the nursing home. But she had no one else to call.

        Grandma Mary...Mrs. Palmer could not deny that she was worried about the elderly lady. Unlike the other residents who had family, Grandma Mary was all alone, and she had no idea where she could have her transferred. Her outburst earlier was a matter of grave concern for the director. With the way she was talking gibberish, Mrs. Palmer feared that Seacouver Asylum was her only recourse.

        Then, Duncan had arrived. When Grandma Mary hit him with the metal bar, it shocked her to say the least when she heard him speak the same "gibberish." Whatever language it was, Mrs. Palmer was thankful that it brought Grandma Mary back to her normal self. Watching them embrace, she wondered if...

        The director shook her head. What was she thinking? Duncan MacLeod was not only a young man, he was also one of the city's richest men and, probably, its most eligible bachelor. With his jet-setting lifestyle, he wouldn't consider taking in an old woman. Perhaps, she could just convince him instead to put her in a better nursing home and finance her needs and medical care.

        Reaching the room of Sunny Acres last elderly resident, she softly knocked on the door. When there was no answer, Mrs. Palmer went inside. Her jaw dropped at the sight that greeted her.

        Grandma Mary was sound asleep in her bed. Sleeping beside her was Duncan MacLeod. The old woman's right arm was laid on his back. Her left arm cradled his head, her fingers caressing his long silky tresses. On the other hand, the young man was cuddled close to her, his head laid on her bosom, his arms wrapped around her waist. Both had small smiles on their lips. So sweet they looked, sleeping together like that. So loving. So touching. 

        _Like mother and son,_ the pleasant thought entered Mrs. Palmer's mind.

        Carefully, the director stepped out of the room. As she closed the door, a smile formed on her lips. In her heart, she knew that her problem has been solved.


	5. Chapter 5

 

**CHAPTER FIVE**

 

        "Hello, hello!" Methos greeted cheerfully as he opened the door of the T-Bird, pushing the wheelchair right next to it. "You must be Grandma Mary! It's wonderful to meet you, my lady! Mac has been telling me all about you."

       Duncan scowled darkly at the Old Man. True, he had requested Methos to help him renovate the Third Floor of the Cambie establishment into a small apartment. However, he did not ask the ancient to play welcoming party. This was supposed to be a private moment between him and Grandma Mary, when he himself would escort her to her new home. Never in a million years did the Highlander expect to find a grinning Methos waiting for them inside the garage.

       Grandma Mary didn't seem to mind though. Giggling like a school girl, she allowed the Old Man to gallantly kiss her fingertips. "'Mac'? Is that what you call my Bonny Prince, Mister..."

       "Adam...Adam Pierson," Methos introduced himself. Giving the Scot a mischievous wink, he remarked, "Perhaps I should call him 'my Bonny Prince' as well. I'm sure our students would love that."

       There was confusion on her face. "'Students'? Are you and my son teachers?"

       "Yes, at Seacouver University. Our Bonny Prince here is teaching history."

       Duncan snorted in disgust. "I would appreciate it, Professor Pierson, if you would stop calling me 'Bonny Prince'. I was never YOUR Bonny Prince."

       That retort bewildered the old woman even more. She accorded Methos a suspicious glance.

       "Oh, don't mind us, Grandma Mary!" the Old Man laughed lightly. He remembered Duncan's telling him about the lady's revulsion towards anything that wreaked of perversion. Not that he and the Highlander were able to consummate their relationship to begin with. But he didn't want to cause the younger man any embarrassment and heartbreak. It was very obvious to him how much Duncan loved this old woman. "I often tease Duncan like this so that he would lighten up. He is always so serious. As the saying goes, it takes only a few muscles of the face to form a smile and, most of the facial muscles, to form a frown. You don't want to see your Bonny Prince with wrinkles now, do you?"

       "You are right in that regard, young Adam!"

       The Scot grimaced, seeing how much Methos preened at that praise. If Grandma Mary only knew that the man before her was 5,000-years old, much, much older than her. 

       Grandma Mary continued, "My beloved son has always been a very handsome young man. Eternal life suits him."

       Methos gaped at the woman in surprise. "You know?"

       "Why shouldn't I? He's just like his clansman, Connor MacLeod. A good man, just like my Duncan. One of our elders was a friend of Caiolin MacLeod. It is not true that Connor was a spawn of Satan. He was blessed with Immortality, like my dear son. You remember Grandda Malcolm, my Bonny Prince. He tried to convince your father as well to take you back into the clan." She shook her head in sorrow. "It shames me that his father was such a stubborn, superstitious fool as to not see the goodness in his son's heart. When Duncan awoke from death, that was it. He was branded a demon. What made matters worse was the fact that my Bonny Prince was not of our blood. He was only brought to us by a peasant woman." Grandma Mary took Duncan's hand and squeezed it tenderly, smiling. "But it made no difference to me. Even if he did not come from my womb, he is still my beloved son."

       There was a sad little smile on the Highlander's face. Methos could see how much Duncan wanted to believe that this kind, loving woman was the reincarnation of his mother.

       It was then that Grandma Mary squinted up at the Scot. She exclaimed, "Why, Duncan! I didn't notice it before, but you have little lines at the corners of your eyes."

       "I haven't been sleeping well these past few months, Grandma," Duncan said truthfully but did not expound further. 

       The ancient had noticed those lines before. It only enhanced the haunted expression that seemed to have become a permanent fixture on Duncan's face.

       Hoping to break the ice, Methos laid an arm over the Scot's shoulder and declared, "Grandma Mary, you don't have to worry about those little lines. It's nothing that cucumber slices couldn't handle. If that doesn't work, there's always wrinkle cream."

       Grandma Mary laughed at that remark. She didn't notice the Highlander glower at the Old Man.

       "Shall we go inside, Grandma?" Duncan invited, shrugging off Methos' arm.

       Undaunted, the ancient took the handles of the wheelchair. "Allow me."

       Duncan watched as Methos wheeled Grandma Mary inside the dojo, both of them chattering happily. Although he truly appreciated the Old Man's kindness, in his heart, he couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen.

       ~~~~~

       Exhausted from the drive and from the excitement after seeing her new home, Grandma Mary decided to take a short nap. After tucking her into bed and kissing her on the brow, Duncan quietly went up to the loft. Sure enough, Methos was waiting for him at the kitchen area.

       "How is she?" asked Methos, tossing a cold can of beer to the Highlander.

       "Very happy," the Scot replied, removing the tab. "I think this will work, Methos. Mrs. Palmer or Zeke will drop by from time to time to check on her. I have all her medications with me so I think it will..." It was then that Duncan's eyes fell upon the bags lying on the floor.

       "I've decided to stay here," the ancient said simply.

       "Are you afraid that I'm going to run out on our little arrangement?" The accusation came out of Duncan's mouth.

       Methos couldn't hide the hurt in his voice. "I just wanted to help you with Grandma Mary. You can't stay cooped up in this building with her all day long. Remember, you have a dojo to run. You also have classes at the university. We could alternate taking care of her."

       Realizing that he had hurt the older man's feelings, Duncan apologized, "Methos, I'm sorry I said that. I didn't mean to be rude."

       "To be honest, it's not that I haven't given it much thought." Methos laid his beer on the kitchen island and went over to the Scot. Gently, he laid his hands on Duncan's arms. He felt a slight flinch at that contact. "Duncan, I want us to start over again. With Grandma Mary here, I'd like to help you find out if she really is your mother reincarnated. Also, I want to show you that whomever it is you love, I too shall love as well. I know how much you care for her. Let me help you in this."

       Biting his lower lip, the Highlander pried the ancient's hands loose. "Methos, I truly appreciate what you want to do for me. But...that part of our lives is over. I only want us to be friends, that's all. Can't you be satisfied with just that?"

       "I'm afraid I can't, because I know that it is not over between us. I know that you still feel something for me. But there is a barrier between us. I don't know what it is, but I intend to break it down so that I could have you back."

       Duncan shook his head. "Don't wish for something that you could never have, Methos. It would spare us both the heartbreak in the end."

       Suddenly, Methos pulled the younger man back, gripping him tightly in his arms that he couldn't move. "Do you want it to be over, Duncan? Tell me the truth! I know you love me. I could see it in your eyes!"

       Before the Scot could say no, the ancient bestowed a heated kiss upon his lips. At first, Duncan struggled in the Old Man's arms, but then, slowly, he began to succumb to the ancient's passion. Soon enough, he was returning Methos' kisses with equal ardor, parting his lips to allow the ancient to explore his moist depths with his tongue. Lost in love and desire, he didn't even notice that Methos had lifted him up onto the kitchen island, removing the buttons of his shirt one by one.

       However, as the ancient started to go lower, Duncan felt the tell-tale tremors rise up his spine. "Methos, no!" he gasped, as he tried to put his hands between their warm skins. But the Old Man simply lowered his shaking fingers. "No, Methos, please!" Methos was kissing the breastbone, between the firm pectorals. The ancient was pulling the zipper of the Scot's slacks down.

       When Methos' mouth enveloped his nipple, Duncan started to struggle anew, pushing the older man away. Methos, however, would not be denied, pinning the Highlander's hands beneath his shapely behind. 

       "No, no!" the Scot sobbed, tears misting his eyes. "I don't want this! Please! No!"

       As the ancient suckled on his tit, a strong hand pulled his limp cock out of his underwear, stroking and squeezing the shaft.

       At once, Duncan began to heave violently as his gorge rose up his throat. With a mighty shove, he pushed Methos off him. As the Old Man looked on in stunned silence, the Highlander ran into the bathroom. Following after the younger man, the ancient could hear the pitiful retching noises the Scot was making. Looking inside, he saw Duncan seated on the floor beside the toilet bowl, puking into the water. Panting for breath, with trembling hands, he reached for the lever and flushed his vomit out.

       "Do I disgust you that much, Duncan?" Those bitter words just escaped his lips, the tears falling from his eyes.

       Duncan whirled around in surprise. Methos could see that his face and hair were drenched with sweat, cheeks still flushed from his retching. Like him, the young Immortal was weeping.

       Not knowing what to say, Duncan lowered his eyes to the floor, his body hitching with the force of his sobs. Although deeply hurt by the Scot's rejection, Methos couldn't resist seeing his beloved in such a pitiful condition. Getting down on his knees, he embraced the Highlander. After a moment's hesitation, Methos felt Duncan's arms around his neck, hugging him just as tight. The two men just sat there in the bathroom, not saying anything, finding comfort in the loving embrace.

       An hour later, they were seated side by side on the couch. 

       "Methos?" It was Duncan who broke the silence, his voice hoarse from his crying.

       "I'm trying hard to be patient, Duncan," the ancient answered. "I swear I'm trying."

       The Highlander was stunned by how cold and Methos sounded. "I am asking...because of Grandma Mary. If she finds out that you and I...that we have a relationship..."

       Methos breathed in deeply. "We don't have a relationship, MacLeod."

       "Isn't friendship a kind of relationship as well?" Duncan timidly asked. 

       "I guess, but it's not the kind of relationship that I want." The Old Man got to his feet, about to take his bags. "I'd better go."

       To Methos' surprise, the Scot grabbed his hand. "Methos, please don't go!"

       "I cannot stay here."

       "I need you, Methos. Please stay. Time, that is all I ask. And discretion. When it's over, when things are finally all right, maybe...maybe I could do what you ask of me."

       Methos sadly shook his head, not wanting to hide his longing and despair to the younger man. 

       "Time, Methos. I beg you!"

       Despite his doubts, the ancient knew that he could not resist the pleas of the man whom he loved with all his heart.

       Clasping Duncan's hands warmly in his grasp, Methos gave him a sad but reassuring smile. "All right, MacLeod. If time is what you need, I'll give it to you."


	6. Chapter 6

 

**CHAPTER SIX**

 

        "Do you want me to read a poem for you, my Bonny Prince?"

       Grandma Mary beamed at the young man who was seated on the floor at her feet. He gazed up at her through those pretty brown doe eyes, granting her a sweet smile as well. She let her fingertips trace every inch of that handsome face. This young man, she thought possessively, was her son. Her bonny Duncan.

       "Yes, please," he answered softly, though she could see that sleep was giving his eyes a dull glow. "I would like that."

       Adjusting the brightness of the lamp on the table beside her armchair, Grandma Mary opened the Scot's book to the poem she had chosen. Clearing her throat, she began to recite.

       _"Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he_  
That every man in arms should wish to be?..."

       Duncan laid his head on Grandma Mary's lap, to hide his startlement more than anything else. "Character of the Happy Warrior" by William Wordsworth. An obvious choice, given what the old woman believed him to be.

       _"It is the generous spirit..._  
Who, with a natural instinct to discern  
What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn;  
Abides by this resolve, and stops not there,  
But makes his moral being his prime care..."

       That line cut through the Highlander's heart like a sword's thrust, causing tears to mist his eyes. As the painful memories sought to overwhelm him once more, Duncan focused instead on Grandma Mary's soothing voice. Like an angel, her singsong recitation drove away his demons, bringing some measure of peace back inside his heart. If only she was indeed who she says she is. If only that he could be sure that she was his real mother.

       As Duncan slowly drifted off to sleep, Grandma Mary's voice reached his aching heart, giving him the love and comfort he had longed for during these past three lonely months.

 

       "Who, not content that former worth stand fast,  
Looks forward, persevering to the last,  
From well to better, daily self-surpassed:  
Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth  
For ever, and to noble deeds give birth,  
Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame,  
And leave a dead unprofitable name --  
Finds comfort in himself and in his cause;  
And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws  
His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause."

 

       Before she could recite the last two lines, Grandma Mary glanced down at the Highlander.

       Someone chuckled from the stairway. Turning, she saw Methos stand from his seat on a step and amble towards them, a wry grin on his face. Looking at the sleeping Scot as well, the ancient remarked, "It appears your audience has fallen asleep on you, Grandma Mary."

       Grandma Mary gazed fondly at Duncan, running her fingers through his long brown hair. "Yes. It looks like he had." Feeling sleepy herself, she daintily covered her mouth and yawned.

       "It looks like you need some sleep yourself. Besides, it's already late."

       Looking at the clock, she saw that it was 10:30 pm. "Oh, my! How time does fly!"

       Carefully, Methos laid the Highlander on the carpet. He then assisted Grandma Mary up from her chair. Picking up her cane, however, she waved the ancient back and made it to her bed on her own. Methos couldn't help smiling. It seemed like a miracle had taken place. Where before the old woman couldn't get anywhere without a wheelchair, now she was walking on her own steam. Nevertheless, he hastened to help her into bed. The Old Man was about to tuck her in when he felt her hand on his. He saw that there was a curious, almost suspicious, expression on her face.

       "Grandma?" Methos asked, frowning. "Is something wrong?"

       "I want to know what my son is to you."

       Straight to the point. Not that it surprised the ancient. For the past two weeks that he's been living in Duncan's loft, he knew that Grandma Mary has been observing his every move.

       "Why do you ask, Grandma?" he queried in turn.

       "There is...something...between you two."

       "We're very good friends and colleagues at the university. There's also the other matter that we're both Immortals. We've been through a hell of a lot together."

       "Then, why is Duncan...skittish...around you? And the way you've been looking at him..."

       Methos cocked an eyebrow up. "In what way?"

       "The kind of look a man usually gives to a woman. Desirous, indecent, lustful..."

       "You thought wrong, Grandma Mary. I feel no such thing towards your son." Inwardly, Methos added, _I love him. There is nothing indecent about the way I feel for him._

       Grandma Mary paused for a moment. She then said in sincere apology, "Forgive me, Adam. It was presumptuous of me to make that insinuation of you. It's just that...this time does not agree with me. So different. The people now, what they do...Gives me the shivers just thinking about it. Has humanity sunk so low that morals and all sense of common decency have gone? All I see are young people surrendering to the temporary bliss of drugs sniffed through the nose or injected into a vein. The union that God had intended for married men and women alone are being performed with such frivolity by everyone outside of wedlock, and with anyone they choose, even with someone of the same sex." Grandma Mary shook her head. "To see such wonderful young men as you and my Bonny Prince living in such scandalous times... It's a miracle that you never succumbed..."

       "To the temptation, you mean?" Methos breathed in deeply. "May I be honest with you, Grandma Mary?"

       "But, of course! After the way I was rude to you earlier..."

       "What I'm going to say is not about that. You don't know this, Grandmother, but I am a lot older than you or Duncan. By my standards, your son is still an infant. The times changed, yes, that's true. Where before we lived in huts and rode horses to get around, now we have all the conveniences that modern life has to offer. But people? Then and now, humanity hasn't changed much at all. These...perversions...you speak of? They existed even way, way back. In Ancient Rome, it was common for a man to be paired with another man. It makes the warrior bond strong."

       "However, those were heathen times."

       "But it still exists up to now. Having lived for millennia, I've learned to look at life and people differently. Let's take love as an example. Christian doctrine dictates that it was God who created love. Isn't that right?"

       Grandma Mary nodded her head.

       "And yet Christian law forbids two men or two women who are in love to be joined together."

       "Because it is unnatural."

       "Is it? Have you tried talking to a gay couple? The love they have for each other is no different from that of a man and woman joined in matrimony. Well, perhaps, it is a bit different. In a same sex pairing, both understand the needs of their lover, both have to overcome insurmountable odds, to battle a prejudiced humanity in order to gain acceptance. Through all the trials and tribulations, their love has emerged all the stronger."

       "But it is not right!" insisted Grandma Mary.

       "Are you telling me that it is wrong to love, especially if it is someone of the same sex? If this is wrong, then God should never have created love in the first place!" Methos stated firmly, "I will tell you what is wrong. It's wrong when you see a married couple split up after only a few months because they say they don't love each other anymore. It's wrong when a couple divorce for that very reason and disregard the feelings of their children. It's wrong when a couple decide not to have kids or the woman gets an abortion because it's not yet time, that a career and keeping her beautiful figure are more important. If you think that same sex pairings are unnatural, I find it more unnatural when a man and woman make a mockery of Holy Vows by not performing the duty that God has given them, which is to form a loving family. What is unfortunate is that you have two men or two women desperate to have children of their own, but the state prohibits them from adopting orphans or kids born out of wedlock because they are not a conventional couple.

       "Love is a sacred thing, Grandma Mary, whether it be between a traditional or a same sex couple. Do not equate what occurs in a same sex pairing as lust. It is lust, not love, which drives men to commit the perversions you speak of. Haven't you ever wondered why prostitution remains the world's oldest profession? It's because too many people who crave for sex patronize it. Do hookers like it? They don't! But they do it because it is the easiest way to earn a living. They do it to survive."

       Methos paused, seeing that the old woman was speechless. "Forgive me. I tend to speak passionately over certain matters."

       Grandma Mary gave him a thoughtful glance. "You speak as if you know."

       "I wish to all the gods that I have ever worshipped that I hadn't," the Old Man said sincerely. "I will not lie to you. I've loved both men and women. I've been a whore. I've seen the best and worst in humanity, lived the joys and the agonies." Methos laughed wryly. "Strangely, if it were not for those experiences, I would never have become the man I am now."

       She gazed at the sleeping figure on the floor. "I don't want my son to suffer through life."

       "Duncan has had his beliefs of honor and chivalry tested many times in recent years," admitted Methos. "But he still has a lot to learn. He has lived a very sheltered life, compared to mine. If one is to grow, one needs to learn from trial and hardship." Hesitantly, he said, "I must be frank, but these past few weeks have been difficult for him."

       "I know," Grandma Mary said in sorrow. "And it's all because of me."

       _And, perhaps, me as well._ But the Old Man didn't voice the thought out loud.

       "All he sees is this old shell of a stranger," she continued. "How could I make him believe that it is indeed I, his mother, who is inside this old woman?"

       "There is a way," Methos put it. "Regression therapy. In your present life, you are known as Elizabeth Ann Krause. Her...personality...is interfering with the full emergence of your soul from the distant past. I will hypnotize you and allow this, your past self, to come to the fore. You will remember everything and you cannot lie under hypnosis. We'll find out the truth once and for all."

       To the ancient's surprise, Grandma Mary exclaimed, "Yes, I would like that very much. This way, I could prove to you that I am who I say I am."

       "You don't have to prove anything to me. I know you speak true." Methos leaned down and bussed her on the brow. "Good night, Grandma! I'm going to put my other charge to bed."

       She gave the Old Man's hand a gentle squeeze. "I trust you, Adam. I know that your intentions towards my Bonny Prince are pure."

       Methos didn't answer. Instead, he smiled and nodded. He then quietly padded over to the sleeping Scot. Methos lifted Duncan in his arms and carried him up the staircase.

       Reaching the loft, the ancient brought the Highlander to his king-sized bed. At first, he debated on whether he should remove Duncan's robe, but, in the end, decided not to. Grandma Mary's last words to him weighed heavily on his conscience.

       Then, Duncan flopped onto his back, the sash of the robe coming undone, pulling the garment open. Methos blinked at the bare expanse of the Scot's upper body unveiled before him. The ancient licked his lips at the sight of that broad chest, with its light smattering of fur and those tiny nipples. His eyes trailed down to the flat abdomen with its round hollow. The Scot's silk pajamas had been yanked down a bit that the small dark curls were visible, just above the waistband.

       Swallowing hard, Methos pulled the covers up to the younger man's chin. Still, he could not resist bending down and bestowing a kiss upon those full lips. The ancient was gratified with a small smile from that luscious mouth.

       Smiling himself, Methos spoke the last two lines of the poem that Grandma Mary was reading to Duncan.

       _"This is the happy Warrior; this is he_  
That every man in arms should wish to be."

       ~~~~~

       It was 1:45 am when Methos was roused by the sound of moaning. As he opened his eyes, he could hear soft sobs.

       "No! Don't!" that pitiful voice spoke in the darkness. "Please don't!"

       Methos got up from the couch, rubbing his knuckles over his eyes, trying to make out who was speaking.

       Then, the cries became frantic, assuming a high-pitched quality. "Please not yet! Don't do this to me! Please, no more! Mama! MAMA!"

       Those wails caused a chill to run up Methos' spine as he realized, at last, that it was Duncan who was shrieking. Sure enough, as he hurried to the Highlander's bed, Duncan was violently tossing and turning in his sleep.

       "Mama, help me!" the Scot cried out, tears streaming from his closed eyes. "Don't let them hurt me, Mama!"

       "Duncan! Wake up!" Methos shook him by the shoulders. "You're having a nightmare! Come on, Mac! Wake up!"

       Shoving the Old Man to the far end of the bed, Duncan sat bolt upright, his doe eyes wide with terror. When his eyes focused on the ancient, the Highlander scooted to the headboard, desperately tugging the blanket along with him. But since the covers were pinned under Methos' bulk, Duncan released it and curled up in a protective ball.

       Methos inched closer to the terrified Scot, raising a hand to him. "It's all right, Duncan. You just had a bad dream."

       The Highlander, however, started kicking out. "NO! STAY AWAY FROM ME!"

       Desperate to calm the young Immortal, Methos lunged forward before that flailing foot could connect with his privates and grabbed him by the shoulders. Still, Duncan struggled fiercely that the ancient was forced to pin his legs down with his knees.

       "DUNCAN, GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF!" Methos yelled, shaking him roughly. "KNOCK IT OFF!"

       However, the Scot shrieked, "Please don't hurt me! I swear I'll do anything you want! But please don't hurt me!"

       Not knowing what else to do, the ancient slapped the hysterical young man in the face. As a whimper escaped the Highlander's lips, Methos started when he felt something warm wet his leg. Looking down, the Old Man was shocked to find, that in his terror, Duncan had wet himself.

       His face scrunching up, Duncan burst into tears. With the high-pitched voice of a punished child, he sobbed, "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry I made a mess!"

       "It's all right, Duncan," Methos reassured him, tears streaming down his cheeks as well. "I could clean it up later."

       Fear-glazed brown eyes stared up at him. "I want my Mama! Please, sir? Could you take me to my Mama?"

       "I have to get you washed up first."

       "You...you won't hurt me? I swear I'll be good this time."

       Methos bit his lower lip, seeing the red mark on the Scot's cheek. "No. I promise I won't hurt you."

       The ancient went to the dresser and pulled out a white bathrobe, placing it on the crook of his arm. Going back to the bed, he was stunned to see Duncan clutching one of the smaller pillows tightly, his thumb pressed between his lips.

       "Come on, Duncan!" Methos urged the younger man. "Let's get you cleaned up."

       Holding him like spun glass, the Old Man led the Highlander inside the bathroom and, removing his wet pajamas, made him stand inside the tub. Desire was furthest from his mind as he washed the lower half of Duncan's body. When he had finally dried the Scot up, he peeled off the soiled robe and let him don the clean one.

       As he was tying up the sash, a timid voice queried, "Why are you crying, sir?"

       Methos looked up to find baby brown eyes staring back at him. Laying a gentle hand on the Scot's face, he saw Duncan flinch from that brief touch. Unable to control his emotions any longer, Methos embraced the Highlander as his body was wracked with sobs. Thankfully, confused as he was and not exactly sane either, Duncan did not pull away, suckling quietly on his thumb.

       When his sobs were no more than soft hiccups, Methos brushed Duncan's tears away with his palms. To his credit, the Scot used a corner of his pillow to wipe away the wetness on the Old Man's face.

       "Are you going to take me to my Mama now?" Duncan asked tentatively.

       "Yes, but I want you to be quiet, okay?"

       The Scot gave him a child's sweet smile and nodded his head.

       Methos escorted Duncan to the Third Floor, where Grandma Mary lay sound asleep in her bed. Waving a hushing finger at the younger man, the ancient lifted the covers so that Duncan could creep in beside her.

       "Thank you!" Duncan whispered to the Old Man, draping an arm over Grandma Mary's waist as he settled down to sleep, laying his head on her breast.

       Before Methos could walk away, there was a soft gasp of surprise. Turning, he saw Grandma Mary gaping at the sleeping young man beside her. Rather than awaken, like a darling child, Duncan cuddled even closer to her, letting out a satisfied sigh.

       In reply to the old woman's questioning look, Methos said softly, "Duncan had a very bad dream. He was looking for you. I hope you don't mind."

       The glorious smile on Grandma Mary's face was answer enough.

       With heavy heart, Methos returned to the loft. Taking some clean rags and a bucket of soap and water, he removed the soiled blankets and tossed them inside the hamper. He then proceeded to scrub the urine from the bed itself.

       Seeing that wet spot, Methos just found himself sagging to the floor as he surrendered to his guilt and tears. The Scot's outburst, his sudden regression to the mind of a child...there wasn't any doubt in his mind that something terrible had happened to Duncan while he was away.

       Overwhelmed by the pain in his heart, Methos buried his face in his hands. "Oh, God! What have I done? I should never have left him!"

       ~~~~~

       The ancient was keeping his eyes lowered to the contents of his coffee cup, but he could still see the Highlander's hesitant approach.

       "What happened last night, Methos?" Duncan queried softly. 

       "You don't remember?" asked Methos in turn.

       "I remember bits and pieces, but not all of it."

       "It's better that way. You had a nightmare, Mac. Don't fret too much about it."

       "Did I say anything in my sleep?"

       "Mostly gibberish. You were crying out for Grandma Mary. That's why I brought you to her bed."

       "Was it Grandma Mary I was crying out for?"

       With a trace of irritation, Methos exclaimed, "Would you just drop it, MacLeod? Like I said, it's nothing to brood about."

       Duncan took the stool beside the Old Man, but he couldn't bring himself to look at the ancient. He just sat nervously, twiddling his fingers. "If I'm being a burden to you, Methos, you could leave. This is my problem. I can handle this on my own. I should never have gotten you involved in the first place."

       "You could ask me to do anything for you, Duncan, except leave."

       The Highlander gaped at Methos in surprise.

       At last, the ancient turned to face the younger man. "I abandoned you before, when you needed me the most. I will not leave you now."

       "This is unfair to you!" Duncan cried in anguish. "What kind of a lover am I? I couldn't even give you what you want! You deserve someone better than me!"

       The ancient cupped the younger man's face in his hands. "Duncan...tell me the truth. Do you love me?"

       As a tear fell from his right eye, the Highlander slowly nodded. Turning away abruptly, he said, "But I couldn't be with you any longer. It won't be right!"

       "If you still love me, the more that we deserve to be together." Methos breathed in deeply. "I...think...that something terrible happened to you." Duncan shook his head, about to object. However, the Old Man pressed his hand to those lips, halting what the Scot was about to say. "I won't ask. You could tell me, when you're ready." The ancient took the Highlander's hands in his grasp, squeezing them. "Don't ask me to leave you, Duncan! That is the one thing that I will never do. I cannot live without you. We could take it slowly, a day at a time. Even centuries. I will wait until you're ready. Nothing is going to tear us apart ever again. I swear it."

       Silence fell between the two men. Suddenly, Methos' eyes widened in shock, feeling timid lips press on his mouth. Duncan's tears were warm as they trickled on his cheeks, mixing with the moisture that also fell from his eyes. He could taste the saltiness of their mixed tears where their lips were joined.

       "A day at a time, Methos," Duncan whispered. "A day at a time."

       Their kiss ended when they heard the drone of the lift. Wiping away the tears from their faces, they opened the gate for a smiling Grandma Mary.

       "Good morning, Grandma?" Duncan greeted cheerfully. "What do you want for breakfast?" 

~~~~~

       Grandma Mary woke up early, feeling refreshed and happy. Although there was an embarrassed blush on Duncan's face when he discovered out that he was in her bed, she could clearly see how happy and at peace her son was.

       After getting dressed, rather than take the staircase, she decided to go up the loft via the lift. But before she could open the gate, the sight that greeted Grandma Mary caught her by surprise.

       From where she stood, she could clearly see her son and Adam sitting at the kitchen island. The two men were kissing. She blinked several times, but the vision did not change. Something distasteful rose inside her. Suddenly, what Adam had told her made sense. And he had the gall to lie to her, to tell her that his feelings for her son did not lean toward unnatural lines. Worse, Grandma Mary could see that these were feelings obviously shared by her Bonny Prince as well.

       When they noticed her at last, Grandma Mary forced a smile on her face, seeing them approach. But as Duncan lifted the gate, she saw the tears on the eyes of both men. Perhaps, she was wrong. Maybe both men were simply sharing a moment of comfort. Lord knew she had seen some of the men in Glenfinnan offering a comforting kiss. Still, the doubt niggled her.

       "What do you want for breakfast, Grandma?" Duncan asked her, a warm smile on his face.

       No, Grandma Mary thought. Now was not the time to make any accusations. She didn't have any evidence that there was something perverted going on. But she will keep a close eye on them, especially Adam. She will not see the honor of her Bonny Prince ruined.

       Granting the two men a smile as well, Grandma Mary replied, "Oatmeal would do just fine."


	7. Chapter 7

 

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

 

        "Are you sure you want to do this, Grandma Mary?"

       There was grave concern on Duncan's face as he watched Methos assist the old woman in getting into a relaxed position on the couch.

       "I must," Grandma Mary asserted. "So that you would believe."

       "You don't have to do this," the Highlander pleaded with her. "It isn't necessary."

       "The simple fact that you still call me 'Grandma Mary' has shown me the necessity of undergoing this method of treatment."

       Duncan looked beggingly at Methos. But the ancient remarked, "This is the only way we could get answers. Duncan, I promise I'll pull her out of it if things get a little hairy."

       Seeing that his elders had their minds made up, the Scot plopped wearily into his seat. "I'm staying close," he declared, more of a reassurance to himself than to the elderly lady. "Just in case."

       Taking his position beside the couch, Methos pulled out a gold chain with a crystal pendant at the end. He started swinging the crystal before Grandma Mary's eyes like a pendulum.

       "Look at the crystal, Grandma. Watch it swing," Methos spoke, his voice low and lulling. "You will feel yourself getting sleepy. Very sleepy. Your eyelids are getting heavy. You just want to close your eyes and sleep. Are you feeling sleepy?"

       "Yes," Grandma Mary replied. Both men could see the cloud of sleep misting the woman's eyes.

       "Even asleep, you will hear and respond to my voice."

       "Yes."

       "That's good. On the count of ten, you will fall asleep. Okay? 1...2...3...4..."

       Duncan watched in silence as Grandma Mary's eyes fluttered close. By the time Methos reached the number ten, she was in deep sleep.

       "Can you still hear me, Grandma?" the ancient asked.

       "Yes," the old woman answered.

       "When I snap my fingers, you will open your eyes. You will remember everything, Grandma -- about the recent and more distant past. You will answer all my questions. Understood?"

       "Yes," Grandma Mary said dreamily. "I understand."

       "Very well then." At once, Methos snapped his fingers, and the elderly lady opened her eyes. The two Immortals immediately noticed the transformation in Grandma Mary. There was a confused expression on her face and her whole body seemed to sag from the burden of her age and grief.

       "What is your name?" the ancient queried.

       "Elizabeth Ann Krause. Where am I? What is this place?"

       "Mrs. Krause, you're in the new nursing home," Methos lied. "You were brought here after St. Patrick's burned down in a fire."

       The old woman started waving her hands. "I don't like it here. Let me go back to sleep."

       "Why do you want to go back to sleep?"

       "I don't want to see. I don't want to see."

       "See what, Mrs. Krause?"

       "The building across the alley. Horrible place. Disgusting people."

       Concentrated as he was on the woman, Methos did not notice that the color was drained from Duncan's face.

       "What do you see in that building?"

       She shook her head in abhorrence. "No, I don't want to look. That man...that young man..."

       "What young man?"

       "No. NO! I don't want to remember! But that young man...why can't I forget him? His face...I could still see his face...so familiar. Like the hills and the mountains. I want to see that. Not the building. Not the people. Not the young man. I just want to sleep, and dream of memories past."

       "These memories...are they yours?"

       "No. They belong to someone else. Someone inside me."

       Knowing that this was the confirmation that he has been seeking, Methos declared, "All right, Mrs. Krause. You may sleep now. However, I would like to speak to whoever is inside you. Let this person come forward."

       As she closed her eyes, a dramatic change came over the old woman. Her back straightened, her features becoming confident and serene. There was even a warm smile on her face.

       Methos continued, "I am speaking to the person inside Mrs. Krause. Who are you?"

       With a small, gracious nod, she answered in heavy brogue, "My name is Mary, wife of Ian MacLeod, the Chieftain of the Clan MacLeod."

       For a moment, the two Immortals looked at each other. The ancient could see how nervous Duncan was. The young man was wringing his hands, concern written all over his face. 

       "Why don't you tell us about yourself, Mary?" Methos urged her. 

       As they listened, the old woman began to narrate the story of her life -- beginning with her youth in Scotland up to the point that she married Ian MacLeod. Giving the Highlander a side glance, judging from the expression on his face, the Old Man could see that everything that she was saying was true.

       "Do you have any children?" the Old Man queried.

       Deep sorrow cross her features. "No. My only son was stillborn. It broke my heart when the healer told me that I could never bear another." A glorious smile formed on her face. "A peasant woman came, and she brought with her a most beautiful baby boy -- a foundling. The minute I saw him, I fell in love with him. When that harridan accused him of being a changeling, that he should be thrown to the dogs, I adamantly refused. I would not let him go. He's my son. Ian saw how much I loved him and he had that witch banished. My husband named him Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. But, for me, he shall always be my Bonny Prince. I thought he would stay with me forever."

       "What happened, Mary?"

       "He was killed in battle. A few hours later, he came back to life with nary a scratch on him, just like his legendary clansman Connor MacLeod. Ian banished him, saying that he was a demon. I tried everything, but my husband would not listen to my pleas. Duncan returned to Glenfinnan two years later, to avenge his father's death at the hands of Kanwulf the Viking. I never saw him again."

       Tears welled up in Mary's eyes. "Even on my death bed, I prayed that Duncan would come. But it was not to be. I only drew strength in the knowledge that the spirit is eternal. I swore to myself that I would find my son, no matter where he is, no matter the time. I will find my Bonny Prince and I will protect him -- as I was not able to do when his father banished him from the clan and when I nearly failed to do so after Debra Campbell's death."

       A soft gasp escaped Duncan's lips. There was a frown on Methos' brow, seeing the startlement and the pallor on the younger man's face.

       "What is it, Mary?" Methos asked, his curiosity piqued. "Tell me what happened after Debra Campbell's death."

       "That bastard...Fergus Campbell," Grandma Mary spat out the name in disgust. "Debra's older brother. We thought him to be an honorable man like his father."

       Surprisingly, it was Duncan who continued. "After Debra's death, Fergus came to Glenfinnan. At that time, I was in disgrace with my clan, for getting in the way of Debra's marriage to my cousin Robert. Our two clans should have been united. Fergus said that his father sent him to repair the rift between the Campbells and the MacLeods. He comforted me. He told me that I was not to blame for Debra and Robert's deaths. I thought he was my friend."

       "But we were wrong," put in Grandma Mary, shaking her head in dismay. "We were oh so wrong about Fergus Campbell."

       _"Fergus! Slow down, man!" cried __Duncan__, trying his best to catch up with the older Scot who was pulling his hand._

       Fergus Campbell had accosted him in the village while he was on an errand for his mother, saying that he had an important matter to discuss with the young MacLeod in private. Without question, Duncan allowed Fergus to lead him into Donan Woods. In his haste to follow, Duncan dropped his broadsword in the forest.

       Soon, the two men found themselves in a small clearing in the heart of the woods. With his right arm propped against a tree for support, Duncan was bent forward, panting for breath.

       "All right, Fergus," he said between breaths. "What is it you want to speak with me about?"

       Fergus was eyeing the younger man before him, a sly grin quirking up the corner of his mouth. "I've figured out a way to unite our two clans."

       Duncan's head snapped up to look at Campbell in surprise. "You have? That's good news!" Eagerly, he asked, "What's your plan? Do you intend to hold a conference between our elders? What are we going to do?"

       "'What are we going to do?'" repeated Fergus thoughtfully. "You asked the right question."

       "So what is it? What do you have in mind? Are you going to tell me or not?"

       Before he knew what was happening, Duncan suddenly had his back to the tree, Fergus' beefy arms on either side of him. The older, much larger Scot was standing very close to him, too close for his comfort.

       "I want you, Duncan," Fergus whispered in his ear.

       Duncan burst into nervous laughter. "Oh, Fergus! Be serious! Come on and tell me what you intend to do."

       "I told you. The only way for our two clans to be united is if I marry a MacLeod, and I...want...you."

       "If this is a joke, I do not find this amusing. You know that two men can never marry. It would bring shame on both our families. Fergus, do not jest with me? Tell me what your plans are!"

       To his shock, Campbell's hands went down, rubbing his arms tenderly. Trembling, eager fingers stroked his side before descending to his waist.

       Duncan stared wide-eyed at Fergus. "Sweet Jesus! Tell me that you're just kidding me. Tell me you're not serious about this."

       But Campbell replied, "I wanted you the first time I saw you as a grown man when you visited our village. Do you know how beautiful you are, Duncan? You were such a lovely vision when you rode into Clan Campbell -- your beautiful face, your long brown hair flying in the wind. You turned a lot of heads that day. Ha, you were a lot prettier than my own sister, and she was considered the belle of the clan. I wanted you to notice me, but you thought of me as a mere casual acquaintance. It was Debra you were in love with. I couldn't allow that you be married to her. I wanted you for myself. That is why I convinced our father to have my sister joined to your cousin Robert MacLeod instead of to you. Things have worked out to my advantage. With Debra and Robert dead, nothing stands in my way in claiming you. You are in disgrace with your clansmen, Duncan. What better way to regain your honor than to be wedded to me. With our union, our clans will get what they desire."

       "Nay, Fergus!" Duncan declared in outrage. "What you want...it is unnatural! The Church will not allow it! I will not be joined to you!"

       "Think about it, Duncan! Our union will benefit both our clans! With our clans united, it would make us stronger against the English!"

       "But at great cost to me! Nay! It is only you who shall benefit, not our clans. Unhand me this instant, Fergus Campbell! I will not be your partner in this lunacy!"

       Before he could storm off, Fergus grabbed his arm. Using his superior strength, he slammed Duncan to the ground and straddled him.

       "LET GO OF ME!" Duncan roared, letting his fists fly, but Campbell pinned his hands to his sides with his knees.

       "I swore to myself that I will have you, Duncan," Fergus muttered ominously. "Give in, and I will not hurt you."

       "No! NEVER! I will not play your catamite!"

       "If that is what you wish. I do not need you willing to take you."

       Duncan gasped as his shirt was torn open. Feeling Campbell's loathsome kisses upon his breast, he shouted, "Damn you, Fergus! I'll kill you! I swear I'll kill you!"

       Campbell, however, struck him in the face several times, leaving him dazed, blood trickling from a corner of his mouth.

       "MacLeod," he said between gritted teeth, "by the time, I'm through with you, you'll be begging for more."

       Duncan struggled to break free from Fergus' clutches, but it was futile. Although he kicked his legs out furiously, the older Scot had managed to yank his kilt up and bunched the fabric around his waist.

       Feeling strong hands part his legs wide, Duncan cried, "NO! Don't you dare! Don't you dare do this to me!"

       Raising his own kilt, Fergus pulled out his formidable sex. "Yes, I dare! Now, hold still, Duncan. This will hurt a lot!"

       Terror overwhelmed him. Feeling pressure upon his virgin opening, Duncan's head fell back as he screamed.

       "LET MY SON GO, FERGUS CAMPBELL, OR YOU'LL FIND YOURSELF WITHOUT A HEAD!"

       Duncan gazed up to find Fergus frozen like a statue above him, the sharp edge of a broadsword pressed to the side of his neck. Mary MacLeod held her son's blade firmly with both hands.

       "GET UP, YOU FILTHY SODOMITE!" Mary ordered in fury.

       Slowly, Fergus stood up, cautiously peering down at the sword at his throat.

       "You will return to Clan Campbell this instant," she said firmly. "You need not bid farewell to my husband. I shall explain to him that our clans could no longer be united because your father has decided to form an allegiance instead with Clan MacGregor."

       "The Chieftain will not believe you," sneered Fergus.

       "Would you rather that I told him that you raped his son? Use your head, Fergus Campbell! You wouldn't want the wrath of the MacLeods to fall upon your measly head and your clan." Mary grinned wickedly. "Or perhaps you would like me to geld you right here and now? NOW, GO!"

       At that command, Fergus fled into the trees.

       Letting the sword fall out of her grasp, Mary dropped to her knees beside her son. Duncan was in shock, cringing, desperately trying to retain some semblance of modesty. Tears were streaming down his cheeks.

       "Duncan...my Bonny Prince," she asked worriedly. "Are you all right? Did he take you?"

       "I don't know, Mama," sobbed Duncan. The fear and the shame that he might have been violated made him unable to look into his mother's face. "I don't know."

       "Turn over, son, and raise your legs," Mary said gently. "Let me have a look at you."

       Obeying his mother, Duncan lay on his back and raised his legs, bent at the knees, spreading them.

       "Don't be afraid, my Bonny Prince," she reassured him. "This will only take a minute."

       Closing his eyes, Duncan whimpered as his mother poked at the nether region with her finger. Thankfully, her examination was over soon enough.

       Smiling, Mary exclaimed, "You're fine, Duncan. He has not breached you. Your honor is intact."

       At that pronouncement, Duncan sat up and flung his arms around his mother's neck.

       "I love you, Mama!" he wept in sheer relief and gratitude. "I love you so much!"

       "I love you too, my Bonny Prince!" Mary sobbed in reply, hugging her beloved son. "I swear, on my life, I will let no harm befall you."

       Tears welled up in Methos' eyes as he watched mother and son embrace on the couch, kissing each other lovingly.

       "Mama, I'm so sorry I doubted you!" cried Duncan, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. "Can you ever forgive me?"

       Grandma Mary was weeping as well, as she soothed her son. "But, of course, I forgive you! I'm your mother, and I'll always love you, my Bonny Prince! Now that we're together again, I'll take good care of you and protect you. No one is going to tear us apart ever again."

       Methos wiped away the tear that fell from his eye. _Please, Lord! Please let things be all right for __Duncan__ from now on!_


	8. Chapter 8

 

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

 

        It was a bright, sunny day at the park. It being a working day, there were only a few people, mostly mothers and their children. One mother in particular was seated comfortably on a picnic blanket, keeping a doting eye on her son who was plunking rocks into the lake. Unlike the other mothers, however, this woman was old, so old that she could be the grandmother of all the women present in the park. On the other hand, her son was a tall, very handsome young man with brown eyes as pretty as a fawn's. But looks could be misleading, for this dashing gentleman was an Immortal, a member of a secret race of humans blessed with eternal life. By human age standards, he should be older than the elderly lady. However, through a quirky twist of reincarnation, the woman, though mortal, was a bit older than the Immortal, her body inhabited by the soul of his mother from more than 400 years back.

       Smiling, Grandma Mary called out to her son, "You know, my Bonny Prince, that there was a time when you used to be able to skip stones over the water."

       Duncan turned, hiding the rocks he held in his hand behind him. Just like he used to when he was a child back in Glenfinnan.

       Grinning sheepishly, he said, "I'm out of practice, Mama."

       Going towards the old woman in long strides, the Highlander plopped down on the blanket and, without a single care in the world, lay down, his head on his mother's lap.

       Out of the corner of her eye, she saw some of the mothers stealing side glances at them. "The way those women are looking at us, they would think that I'm your Mommy."

       "But you are my Mama," Duncan commented, frowning.

       "Don't do that! You're starting to have prominent lines on your face," she chided him, smoothing away the creases on his brow. "What I meant was they're probably thinking that you're my paramour and I'm your benefactress."

       "You mean gigolo and sugar mommy respectively. I don't care. Let them think what they will." For emphasis, Duncan reached out with his left arm to wrap around Grandma Mary's waist.

       She bent down and kissed the Scot's temple. "You were always a delight to me, Duncan." Breathing in deeply, she said, "But I must admit that there were times when I thought you loved your father more than me."

       "It's different with father. When I'm with him, he makes me feel like I'm one of the men -- teaching me swords, how to lead the clan. But with you...I could be anything I want. When I'm with you, I'm not Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, the heir of the Chieftain. I'm merely Duncan, your son, your Bonny Prince." With a sigh, Duncan revealed, "I feel safe when I'm with you, like I could be a child again and not have a care in the world. The responsibilities I carry become lighter." Laughing, he added, "Besides, I love it when you let me cuddle close to you."

       Grandma Mary took the shiny pebbles from her son's hand, her fingers running over the calluses on his palms. "Your life has been very difficult, hasn't it, my Bonny Prince."

       Duncan nodded. "They say that eternal life is a blessing, but it has been more of a curse to me. I've lost so many people whom I loved. Because of my Immortality, I lost you and father. My beloved Tessa... You should have known her, Mama. She was a wonderful, most beautiful woman. We were to marry, but an evil man kidnapped her. I was able to save her. But only a few minutes after, Tessa was shot during a robbery."

       "Best not to dwell on painful memories, Duncan. Remember Tessa as she was in life."

       "That's what I do, but it doesn't ease the pain one bit. I really miss her." 

       "I understand how you feel. Not a single day went by that I didn't think of you after your father cast you out. But don't think of Immortality as a curse. I'm sure it has its blessings as well. Oh, the wonders that you have seen with the passage of time!"

       "But it couldn't compare to the losses."

       Grandma Mary played with strands of her son's silky brown tresses. "As long as you live, never lose faith and hope. Through all the difficulties, it will always give you strength."

       There was a moment's pause. Duncan then said, "How long do I have to live like this, Mama? It's been one trial after another, and I'm so tired. I nearly came close to losing Adam as well and I don't want that. I..." The Scot bit his tongue as he almost spoke those three words. _I love him._ "He's such a good friend to me. I couldn't bear the thought if I should lose him too."

       "You sound like you're very close."

       There was no point in denying it. "Yes, Mama."

       Grandma Mary stared out into the lake. Taking one of the pebbles, she threw it into the water. "Look, Duncan!"

       Sitting up, Duncan watched as his mother threw another stone, ripples radiating from the place where it fell into the water.

       Opening her palm to reveal a shiny pebble, she said, "This stone is you, my son. Watching you grow up, I've seen the man you would become. You probably don't know this but you change things, people. There is a light of goodness around you that attracts people -- both good and evil. It's very hard to define."

       "Are you saying that I'm a kind of...disturbance?" queried the Highlander.

       "Not exactly." 

       Throwing the stone into the lake, they saw the ripples radiate in a perfect circle. 

       "That is what you are. You cannot get close to people without finding that you have affected or changed his or her life in some way. Whether you like it or not, that's how life would always be for you. If you don't bring out the good in others, you attract the bad to you. In a way, I think this is the reason why Fergus Campbell attempted to...take...you. There is nothing more appealing to evil than the corruption of an innocent." 

       Duncan wrapped his arms around his legs, tucking his long limbs close to his body. "I don't want this kind of life, Mama. I just want to be left alone."

       "But you can't do that now, can you? Duncan, like I said, faith and hope will see you through. And your honor. As long as you hold on to your honor, you will always be true to yourself."

       "Honor..." The Scot buried his face in his knees. "My damned honor has caused me the most trouble to begin with."

       Grandma Mary embraced her son lovingly, kissing him at the crown of his head. "Are you sure you're not talking about pride? Sometimes, you and your father mix the two up. Oh, Duncan! Hold fast. Be strong. Always remember the poem I read to you. For as long as you are true to yourself, you uphold your self-worth. Always do good. Be a shining example to others. Do not allow yourself to be tempted or corrupted by the ways of evil. Preserve your dignity as a human being and as an Immortal. Do these and you will forever be known as a man of honor."

       If only she had glanced down at the young man's face, she would have seen that Duncan's gentle doe eyes were misted with tears.

       ~~~~~

       After that exhilarating day at the park, Grandma Mary was tuckered out. That night, Duncan tucked his mother into bed and skipped up to stairs, going to the loft. However, the sight that greeted him caught him by surprise.

       Methos was standing in the living room, all his bags packed and in hand. At once, the smile disappeared from the Scot's face.

       "I'm leaving, MacLeod," the ancient said, before the younger Immortal could ask the obvious question. "Things are fine now and I'm sure you would want to be alone with your mother." Shrugging, he gave Duncan a sad little smile. "After all, as the saying goes, 'Two's company, three's a crowd.'"

       "But...but...you promised that you wouldn't leave me." The Highlander couldn't hide the dismay in his voice.

       "Duncan, I don't want to get in the way. This opportunity...your mother's return...it only comes once in a lifetime. Besides, you need her more than you do me."

       "That's not true!" Going towards the Old Man, the Scot took the bags out of Methos' hand. "I need you, Methos. Please don't go."

       "It won't be forever, Duncan. I promise I'll be back."

       To Methos' shock, strong arms embraced him, the Highlander's face warm against his cheek. "No! I won't let you go. Never!" Before the ancient knew what was happening, Duncan kissed him with great longing and passion. "Methos, I owe you this. We made a deal, remember? If you're leaving, at least, let me give you this, so that I'll be certain that you will return."

       "We don't have to do this if you don't want to," muttered Methos, fearful of returning the Scot's passionate caress.

       "But I want to...very much. It's only my body that doesn't..." Duncan pulled away, tears welling up in his eyes. With aching slowness, he started to remove all his clothing. Methos was speechless. It was like opening a gift that he had wanted for so long. When the Highlander's beautiful naked body was unveiled before him, he doubted if he would have the strength to fight the urge to take that alluring flesh. "Please, Methos. Show me. Show me that it doesn't have to hurt."

       "Duncan, I..."

       His protests were silenced once more by Duncan's tender kisses. Surrendering to the love, Methos allowed the younger man to strip him of his clothes. Both bare as the day they were born, the two men broke away for a moment and, hand in hand, walked towards the bed.

       Methos pressed Duncan onto the sheets. With intense wonder, he let his lips and his fingertips roam every inch of the Scot's beautiful face, their tongues probing each other's mouths. Eagerly, he nipped and kissed his way down from the Highlander's earlobe, going to the neck and shoulder. His hands cupped Duncan's firm chest, fingers plucking at the tiny hairs. Gripping the young man's neck, Methos pulled Duncan to a sitting position, at the same time, his lips fastening on those sweet nipples.

       Duncan shuddered all over as the ancient suckled on his tits. His body felt weak at that intense stimulation that he fell back once more on the bed, taking the Old Man with him. A feeble cry escaped his lips as Methos took his aching cock in his hands. At that touch, the Highlander came all over himself. 

       "God!" the Scot exclaimed in shock, feeling the slick fluid on his belly.

       Methos chuckled. "I didn't know I was that good!"

       Descending, the ancient lapped up the semen, allowing his tongue to poke at the navel. His hands were stretched above him, not once stopping their tactile attention on those taut nubs. With an impish grin on his face, he took Duncan's limp cock into his mouth and swallowed it whole. The Highlander's body arched upward as he thrust into that fiendish maw. It was mind-numbing, having his cock engulfed in that velvet heat and his nipples stroked and pulled at fiercely. Before he knew it, he was spurting his seed once more, this time, into the Old Man's mouth.

       Releasing the Scot's limp sex, Methos went up and kissed the younger Immortal, letting him taste his own fluids. At that moment, Duncan felt the ancient's erection poking at his belly.

       Shyly, the Highlander spread his legs to the older man, taking Methos' erection and positioning it at his opening.

       "Duncan, this isn't necessary," the ancient said gently. "It would give me something to look forward to when I return."

       "But I don't think I can wait." Despite his answer, there was fear in his young lover's eyes. That fear found its voice. "Methos...it won't hurt...will it?"

       "That's why I prefer that we wait."

       "No, I don't want to," Duncan shook his head. "If I don't do this now, I'll never be ready."

       Methos breathed in deeply. "If this is what you want..." Carefully, he positioned the Highlander on his hands and knees. "This is the better position," he explained. "If you feel any pain, tell me and I will stop."

       "I trust you, Methos," said the Scot firmly. "I know you won't hurt me. I...I don't think...it will hurt at all."

       "If I DO hurt you, I want you to tell me. Any sign of hesitation and I'll put a stop to it."

       Taking several breaths to calm himself, Methos pressed his aching cock to the tiny opening and pushed. Duncan let out a small cry of pain as the head thrust into the ring of muscle. Before Methos could withdraw, however, the ring immediately gave way and he was fully sheathed into the Highlander's warm, moist channel. This was confirmation enough of what he had been suspecting for the past five months.

       Weeping, Methos embraced Duncan in reassurance. "I won't hurt you, Duncan," he whispered, thrusting slowly and carefully. "I won't hurt you the way they have. I love you. I could never hurt the one person I love."

       At first, the Scot was startled at that comment. Realizing that his lover meant every word, Duncan surrendered himself completely to the call of his aching heart. With aching grace, he moved with the older man, allowing their pace to quicken to the heights of ecstasy.

       Suddenly, there was an outraged cry behind them. Methos gasped as something hard connected with the back of his head. As he fell to the floor dazed, he heard a woman shrieking in fury in Gaelic, followed by a thud. When his vision cleared, he gaped in shock at the sight before him.

       Duncan was crying on the floor, hands shielding the top of his head. Towering above him was a furious Grandma Mary. The old woman was pummeling the distraught Highlander with her cane.

       "SODOMITE!" Grandma Mary shrieked as she struck Duncan again and again. "SINNER!"

       "MAMA, STOP IT! PLEASE!" screamed Duncan, daring to gaze up at his mother's irate form, blood streaming from a cut at his temple. 

       Then, Grandma Mary stopped, staring right into the Scot's face. Pressing a hand to her chest, she took a step back and shook her head in disbelief. "No! NO! Not you! Tell me it isn't you I saw that night! TELL ME!"

       Methos looked at mother and son in confusion.

       "Mama, you don't understand!" Duncan begged her earnestly. "Please let me explain!"

       "TELL ME IT WASN'T YOU I SAW FORNICATING WITH THOSE MEN!"

       "MAMA, PLEASE!"

       "TELL ME!"

       "YES, IT WAS ME! But it wasn't what you thought! I beg you to let me explain!"

       Before the Highlander could speak in his defense, a fierce slap fell on his cheek. With blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, Duncan stared at his mother in shock.

       "Where have I gone wrong?" sobbed Grandma Mary in great dismay. "Where did I fail you, Duncan?"

       "Mama, it's not your fault. Please, you must listen to me!"

       What Grandma Mary said next stunned the Old Man, and he could clearly see the devastating effect it had on his lover.

       "YOU'RE NOT MY SON! MY SON IS NOT A SODOMITE! HE IS NOT A SINNER!"

       Then, with a strangled cry, Grandma Mary collapsed to the floor. 

       "MAMA!" Duncan crawled to her side and cradled her in his arms. At once remembering the older man, he exclaimed, "Oh, Methos! I don't think she's breathing!"

       Rushing to the Scot's side, the ancient checked her pulse. It was very weak. Swiftly, Methos put on his trousers and his sweater. He threw the younger man's slacks and discarded shirt at his feet. Picking her up, he said, "She's still alive. But we'd better bring her to the hospital and fast."

       As Methos rushed to the door, he paused, realizing that the Highlander wasn't following him. Turning back, he saw that there was hesitation and guilt on Duncan's face. The fear had actually frozen him in place.

       "DUNCAN!" That sharp call caused the Scot to look up at him.

       "Duncan, we must bring your mother to the hospital," he repeated gently but firmly.

       "Methos, I..."

       "I told you before, Duncan," Methos began, "that I have an inkling of what happened to you. Whatever it is, it's not my place to ask. The truth must come from you, and I will definitely not force you to tell me. It must be of your own free will."

       "But I can't! I can't tell you!"

       "Like I told you, I can wait. However, for your sake, you need to confide with someone...like me. I won't judge you. But I need to know the truth. However, right now, your mother is our immediate concern. Once she's out of danger, you could tell me."

       "I'm afraid, Methos."

       "And I don't blame you. Come on, Duncan. One problem at a time. We'd better go before we lose your mother."

       Despite his apprehension, the Scot nodded, and followed his ancient lover out the door.


	9. Chapter 9

 

**CHAPTER NINE**

 

        Methos and Duncan waited restlessly at the hospital parlor, neither man speaking. The ancient saw no need to, especially at this crucial period. Duncan was weeping uncontrollably, wracking himself with guilt and remorse. Now was not the time to discuss the Highlander's supposed sins.

       Thirty minutes after they had brought Grandma Mary into the emergency room of Seacouver General, Dr. Anne Lindsey finally emerged, her face grim.

       "How's my mother, Anne?" Duncan immediately asked his ex-lover.

       "Mac, she suffered a heart attack," she answered in sorrow. "Given her advanced age, I don't think she'll survive the night. She's very weak. Since we're pretty much filled up in ICU, I've decided to put her in one of our wards. It's only temporary. That's the only room we have available and she won't be sharing it with anyone else, until we get her transferred to a private room."

       "Can I see her?" the Scot begged her.

       Anne bit her lower lip, unsure of how she was going to tell the Immortal. Seeing she had no other choice but to tell the truth, she said, "She doesn't want to see you, Mac."

       As Duncan sank onto his seat, he barely heard Anne say in confusion, "I don't understand, Duncan. You told me you didn't have a mother. Now, you bring this woman into my E.R. and you claim she's your mother, when her real name is Elizabeth Ann Krause. Then, she herself started shouting that she didn't have a son. When I told her about you, she began cursing and calling you all sorts of names. Mac, what's going on?"

       It was Methos who spoke up. "We'll explain it to you later. It's a very long story."

       In hushed tones, Anne revealed, "She called him a fornicator, a whore."

       Hearing those hateful words brought renewed tears to Duncan's eyes.

       "We'll explain it later," Methos firmly repeated. "Dr. Lindsey, Duncan has been through a harrowing night. I could only beg you to allow him to see her, before it's too late."

       Although she was burning with curiosity, Anne nodded. "I've given her a sedative to calm her down. You could probably check on her while she's asleep. But under no circumstances should you agitate her."

       Duncan gave his former lover a grateful smile. "Thanks, Anne."

       Anne smiled at him reassuringly. "It's the least I could do."

       ~~~~~

       An hour later, the two men were inside the small ward. Duncan stood beside the bed, gazing down at the sleeping figure. Gone were the serenity and calmness on Grandma Mary's face, replaced by anguish and disappointment. Every line on her face was etched deeply. In her hand, she gripped her rosary so tight that her knuckles were white. Tears formed in the corner of her eyes.

       Slowly, Duncan raised a trembling hand to her, wanting so much to touch her, to smooth those troubled lines and wipe away her tears. Instead, he pulled his hand back. With a choked sob, he stepped away from the bed and closed the curtain behind him.

       Methos was seated on one of the chairs. Seeing the younger man, he patted the chair beside him. However, the Scot chose to sit on the vacant bed instead.

       For a long while, the two Immortals sat apart, the distance between them seeming like a deep chasm that couldn't be crossed. Methos wanted to go to his lover, to embrace him and kiss away the heartache. But he resisted the urge. The first move had to come from the Highlander.

       Duncan inched to the far corner of the bed, embracing his legs close to his body. "This is my fault!" he sobbed. "Everything that's happened! It's all my fault!"

       "Don't be hard on yourself, Mac," said Methos. "I'm as much to blame as you. This would never have happened if only I had kept my distance right from the start."

       "No, Methos. You don't understand. It's like what my Mama said. I'm a pebble causing ripples in the water."

       The ancient frowned at that answer. "Duncan, you're confusing me."

       "Three months ago," Duncan interrupted. "Everything began with me three months ago. Why did it have to happen to me? WHY? I wasn't doing anything wrong. I only wanted to give a little happiness to the residents of Sunny Acres."

       Methos felt his heart skip a beat. "What, Duncan? What happened to you?"

       But the Scot buried his face on his knees. "Why me, Methos? Why did they do those terrible things to me?"

       _Three months back..._

       Duncan MacLeod stepped out of the nursing home and into the night. Although it was summer, the breeze was a bit nippy that he pulled his coat around him, hugging his books to his chest. He had been reading "Robinson Crusoe" to Grandpa Leo. Of all the residents of Sunny Acres, Leo was a restless sort of chap and inquisitive to the point of being a nuisance. A new resident arrived that afternoon -- female, said to be catatonic. Mrs. Palmer and the staff couldn't risk the new resident being bothered by Leo on her first day. Duncan took it upon himself to keep the elderly gentleman preoccupied while the staff settled her in. So engrossed was he with his storytelling that he lost track of the time. When he emerged from Sunny Acres, it was 10:45 pm. He never even got to see the new resident. At first, he wondered if he should get a cab home. Bad time for the Thunderbird to be laid up at the garage for repairs. Strangely though, exhilaration filled his being that he couldn't care less. Duncan was eager for tomorrow to come. Already, he was thinking about the special dinner he would be preparing, and the champagne he was going to purchase at the wine shop.

       As he walked down the street, the Scot didn't notice the six shadows that were watching him from the alleyway, shadows that have been watching him for the past three weeks since he began visiting Sunny Acres.

       Suddenly, Duncan was grabbed by many hands and pulled into the alley. At first, he fought back as hard as he could, but greater numbers triumphed in the end. Beaten and helpless, he was dragged inside the building. The next thing he knew, he was inside a large chamber, surrounded by leering men. Their eyes gleamed with a malevolent, almost insane, light. All at once, they barraged him with questions and lecherous remarks one after another.

       "For a man, you're very pretty."

       "What are you doing in that old folks home? Keeping the old geezers happy?"

       "Why waste your time with them when you have young guys like us?"

       "Stick with us, Prince Charming, and we'll give you a ride you'll never forget."

       "How about giving us a little show? I want to see you wiggle that nice, tight butt."

       "You want cash? Just do everything we say and we'll make it worth your while."

       Confused, Duncan was slow to respond, which made the men very impatient. He found himself being pushed back and forth, the gravity of his situation gradually dawning upon him with every trembling caress of sweaty palms and every wet kiss upon his face. In his terror, all warrior instinct and logic has deserted him. All the Scot could think about was self-preservation.

       Shaking all over, every nerve in his body rebelling against it, the Highlander did as he was told -- began to dance. But it was not enough for his abductors. A push here, a shove there... Biting his lower lip, Duncan took off his clothes. The minute the magnificence and beauty of his naked form was unveiled to them, he was carrion for vultures.

       In the hours that followed, Duncan was subjected to every form of depravity that could be inflicted upon his innocent flesh. The men took him -- singly, by pairs or as a whole group. There was a foul taste in his mouth as he was forced to swallow rank organs and the copious seed they spurted. His battered anus had prolapsed, lying relaxed and open, slick with the fluids of his abusers. Blood trickled from the tips of his nipples and his aching cock. However, the plundering of his body with their formidable sex tools was not enough for them. They wanted to humiliate him in the most degrading ways possible. Duncan would awaken to something warm, foul and wet trickling on his face. Opening tear-filled eyes, he would behold a man leering down at him, shaking the drips off his cock. When this happened, he would be hauled into the bathroom and bathed in freezing water. Trembling from the cold, the whole torture would be repeated all over again.

       Duncan didn't know exactly when the numbness set in. Was it during the time that one of the men burned his nipples with a cigarette or the moment they fastened tight clamps upon the nubs? Perhaps it was when another of his abductors scraped his teeth along his shaft, held to an agonizing full erection by a silver ring around the base of his scrotum. The Scot couldn't remember. By the time they thrust that broken beer bottle into his ass, he didn't care anymore. He didn't even scream. He just lay there in silence, the tears streaming from his eyes.

       After what seemed like an eternity in Hell, Duncan found himself being bathed one last time and dressed. Before he knew it, he was escorted by one of the men out the door and into the alley. Still, although freedom had finally been attained, the Highlander couldn't move from where he stood. Even when the man kissed him, he did not respond.

       Something was thrown at his feet -- a thick bundle of money.

       "Take it!" the man said, grinning. "You earned it. Maybe we could do it again sometime."

       As the man laughed, Duncan bent down and picked up the money. With small, painful steps, he made his way down the alley. But then, the flickering flames of the bonfire some winos made inside a garbage can caught his eye. As he stared into the fire, the realization of what had been done to him hit him with the force of an 18-wheeler. Glancing down at the money in his hands, he began to shake all over. With a cry of disgust and anguish, he threw the money into the flames.

       It was then, as he took a step back from the fire, that Duncan sensed someone watching him. His eyes trailed up the side of the Sunny Acres Nursing Home, focusing on the sole figure seated at the window on the Fifth Floor. From the dim outline, Duncan knew that it was a woman. Seeing her stiff form, the Highlander gasped in shock. There wasn't any doubt in his mind that that woman had witnessed his brutal degradation. With a horrified shake of his head, Duncan fled from the alley. The Scot didn't stop running, even when he reached the dojo -- up the stairs, through the loft and straight into the bathroom.

       At once, Duncan turned on the shower, letting the water stream down his still clothed form, his eyes focusing on the small window through which the first rays of the sun shone. Tomorrow had come at last.

       Sinking into the tub, Duncan burst into tears, as he wrapped his arms around his trembling form. In his aching heart, he already mourned for the love that could have been.

       Duncan now lay on the bed, his eyes staring blankly at the far wall, though his tears continued to flow. There was a serene expression on his face as the truth of that terrible night poured out from his lips.

       "I knew right then and there that I had to let you go," said the Scot, his voice assuming a monotone. "It was better that you believed that I didn't want you, that I was just playing with your feelings. Anything, but the truth. I've seen how that woman...who eventually turned out to be my mother...reacted when she saw me. I could take your disappointment, your frustration and your anger, but not your rejection. In the end, that was the worst mistake I ever made in my life. Seeing you walk out of my life tore at my heart just as bad as when Tessa had died, an ache far worse than that of glass shards in the palms of my hands. But I had made my choice. I had to live with the consequences of my decision.

       "For three months, I carried the shame, the grief and the loneliness inside me. And the fear... I was so afraid that they would find me that I hid in the shadows. Night after night, I relived the terrible things that they did to me. Solitude, however, turned out to be a prison in itself. I couldn't live this way, like a mouse hiding in its hole. I had to make that one step out of the darkness." Duncan shook his head in despair. "I should never have taken that step. I had dragged the two people I love the most into the muck with me. Now, I have to live with the shame all over again."

       The Highlander closed his eyes, not wanting to see the reaction on his lover's face. "Methos, please forgive me. I was so selfish to think that I could bring things back to the way they were. I was wrong. You have your truth, Methos. It's over between us. I'm giving you your freedom."

       Silence fell between the two Immortals. Then, Methos spoke up and Duncan felt his breath catch in his throat.

       "Do you think," the ancient began, "that after learning the truth that I would desert you again?"

       Methos stood up and went towards the bed. Bidding the younger man to sit up, he laid a comforting arm on Duncan's shoulder, pulling him close.

       "You should have told me the truth back then. If I had known, I would never have left you the way I had."

       "I don't need your pity, Methos."

       "Duncan, I'm not giving you pity. What I'm giving you is my love."

       "I don't deserve it."

       "Why not? Because you were gang-raped? Because you are no longer chaste? Duncan, it wasn't your fault."

       The Scot shook his head, wringing his hands on his lap. "I must have done something to attract their attention. They thought I was a whore. Maybe I AM a whore."

       "If you continue saying that, you'll start believing the lie." Methos cupped the Highlander's face in his hands, making the young man look into his eyes. "It's not your fault. You were a victim. It was nothing you did. It could've been anyone who strikes their fancy. You happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time." The Old Man cursed out loud, "Damn them to Hell! Tell me who they are and where I could find them. I swear they'll pay for what they did to you."

       But the Highlander replied, "There's no need, Methos. I read it in the newspaper early this morning. The police arrested them at that same building beside the nursing home. They were high on drugs. The police caught them in the act of raping a young woman."

       Duncan stopped at the last, realizing what he just said. Methos was right. It could've been anyone. He WAS the victim. He was not to blame for what happened."

       Still, the Scot timidly asked, "It...it wasn't my fault?"

       Methos smiled reassuringly. "It never was."

       Bursting into tears, Duncan laid his head on the ancient's shoulder. "I am so stupid. How could I have let you go like that?"

       "It's all in the past now," said Methos in comfort. "Let's put it all behind us. Now is the time for healing. Despite what happened to you, my feelings for you haven't changed one bit. I want to be a part of your life...if you'll have me."

       "You know that I want you, that I love you so very, very much." However, the Scot hesitated as his eyes fell upon the closed curtain surrounding the other bed. "But Mama..."

       Methos was crestfallen, remembering Grandma Mary's violent reaction earlier.

       Duncan sat up straight, his head bowed. "I guess we were not meant to be together after all."

       "I could talk to her," the ancient suggested. "I'll try to make her understand how we feel about each other."

       "No, you don't have to. I will not hurt my mother any more than I already have."

       "But...but...what about us?"

       The Scot embraced the Old Man, not wanting to let him go. "I'm so sorry, Methos, but we have no choice. Know this. I love you. I'll always love you."

       Unknown to the two men, behind the curtain, Grandma Mary was awake. She had heard everything they said.

       _Sweet Mary!_ she thought in dismay. @What have I done?

       Clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs, Grandma Mary surrendered to her remorseful tears.

       ~~~~~

       When it was his turn, Methos had persuaded his young lover to sleep on the bed, instead of the armchair, while he kept watch on their patient. Knowing that it was useless to argue with the ancient, Duncan obeyed and trudged off to bed. Just as the ancient nearly dozed off, he felt his hand enclosed in a gentle grasp. Raising his head, he saw Grandma Mary gazing down at him.

       "Grandma Mary!" Methos exclaimed in relief. "Thank God, you're finally awake! Let me get Duncan. He's worried sick about you."

       The old woman, however, shook her head slowly. Seeing that gesture, the ancient's heart sank. It would hurt the Highlander greatly if he found out that his mother refused to see him.

       "Grandma, please don't be angry with Duncan," he pleaded in the Scot's behalf. "I'm to blame for what you witnessed. I'm sorry I lied to you. But Grandma, I love Duncan, more than my life. Regardless of your...beliefs...about same sex pairings, my intentions are pure. If it is such a crime for me to love your son, then God strike me dead right now. I will not desert him this time. I will fight for our love."

       "I have no doubt you would," Grandma Mary spoke at last, her voice very weak. "And I'm happy for it."

       Methos started at that last statement. "I don't understand."

       "I know I don't have long to live, but it would be easy for me to depart from this world, knowing that someone will always be there to protect my son."

       "Don't say that! You still have a long life ahead of you."

       The old woman, however, raised her hand, halting his words. "I am such a fool. Because of my prejudices, I nearly destroyed my Bonny Prince. It shames me that I had sat at my bedroom window and watched while my beloved Duncan was being raped by those men. I did nothing. NOTHING!"

       "You've been listening to us."

       "Yes," Grandma Mary admitted. "I heard everything."

       "You didn't know, Grandma. You're not to blame." Methos looked down at the floor in sorrow. "We all made mistakes. All we saw was the surface. We never thought of digging deeper."

       "And, in the process, my Bonny Prince endured the pain and the shame all alone." Grandma Mary broke into sobs. "How could I have been so cruel to my own son? I am no worse than his father."

       "But unlike your husband," Methos commented, "you have a chance to rectify your mistake. Please, Grandma Mary. Talk to him. It will help ease the burden inside his soul." The ancient smiled. "A mother's kind words...it cures all ills of the heart."

       Grandma Mary straightened, becoming more confident. "You're right. I will speak with Duncan one last time, and...there's something that I must do... Before I go."

       Methos gave the old woman a curious glance, but did not ask. With a nod, he went to the sleeping young Immortal. Shaking his shoulders lightly, the ancient whispered, "Duncan? Duncan!"

       The Highlander woke up with a start. "Methos, what is it? Is something wrong with my mother?"

       "She's awake," he replied. "She wants to talk to you."

       Duncan hurried to his mother's bedside, the Old Man following after him. However, as he stepped through the curtain, he hesitated when he saw the haggard figure looking at him.

       "It's all right," Methos whispered reassuringly. "Go to her."

       "Come here, my Bonny Prince," smiled Grandma Mary, raising her arms to him.

       With a cry, the Scot went to his mother and hugged her. Weeping, he exclaimed, "I'm sorry, Mama! Please forgive me! I've already talked to Adam. We won't be seeing each other again."

       To his surprise, Grandma Mary replied, "That is the one thing that I don't want you to do."

       As Duncan pulled away, the old woman also gestured for the ancient to approach. As the two Immortals looked in confusion, Grandma Mary carefully wrapped her rosary around their wrists, linking them together. 

       Turning to the Old Man, she asked, "Adam, do you know verses sixteen to seventeen from Chapter One of Ruth?"

       Methos stared at Grandma Mary in bewilderment. "Yes, but..."

       "Would you please recite it to my son?"

       The ancient looked at his lover for a moment. Then, remembering the verses, realization dawned on his face. Squeezing Duncan's hand tenderly, Methos took a deep breath and began to speak.

_"Entreat me not to leave thee,_   
_Or to return from following after thee:_   
_For whither thou goest,_   
_I will go;_   
_And where thou lodgest,_   
_I will lodge._   
_Thy people shall be my people,_   
_And thy God my God._   
_Where thou diest, will I die,_   
_And there will I be buried._

_The Lord do so to me, and more also_   
_If ought but death part thee to me."_

  
       Then, laying her palm over their joined hands, she whispered a Gaelic prayer. Both men were stunned to silence. What Grandma Mary had recited was a prayer and blessing for marriage.

       When she was through, there was a glorious smile on her face. "Now, you will always be together. No one will tear you apart." To Methos, Grandma Mary requested, "Could you please leave us for a few minutes? I wish to speak to my son alone."

       "As you wish, my lady." Methos bent down and gave her a tender kiss on the brow. "I love you...Mama." 

       "I love you too, my son." 

       As the ancient stood up, there was a soft clink. Lest the Highlander see the tears that clouded his eyes, he hurried outside the room, holding his wrist. As he closed the door, Methos leaned against the wall beside it. Slowly, he removed his hand that was gripping his wrist. He saw that the rosary had broken in half, the chain and its crystal beads draped over his wrist. Hanging at the end was the gold crucifix. Methos knew that the other half was with Duncan.

       Ten minutes later, the Old Woman heard his lover's anguished wail of "MAMA!", followed by heart-wrenching sobs.

       As Methos began to weep as well, he looked up at the ceiling. Making the Sign of the Cross, he offered a short prayer to Mary MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.


	10. Chapter 10

 

**CHAPTER TEN**

 

_One week later in Glenfinnan..._

       The two Immortals stood side by side before three headstones. The first two belonged to the earthly remains of Duncan's parents. 

       Beside it was a much newer stone. Engraved on it was the name of Elizabeth Ann Krause. Beneath it, however, was written the name she was known by -- "Grandma Mary."

       Getting down to his knees, Duncan laid a bouquet of wild flowers on top of the grave. As he stood up, he said to the Old Man, "I've lost my mother again."

       "But, at least, this time," Methos put itn "you were able to tell her all the things you wanted to say to her." 

       "Do you think she really does...accept...our relationship? Do you think she understands?"

       "She wouldn't have done what she did if she hadn't." Although he felt a sudden apprehension, the ancient teasingly inquired, "Why, MacLeod? Having second thoughts all of a sudden? After your mother handfasted us, you know you can't back out now. We're stuck with each other."

       To his relief, the Highlander bestowed a radiant smile upon him. "And I wouldn't want it any other way." 

       "But just to make sure..." Methos took out a small box from his coat pocket. Opening it, he pulled out the small cross that he had placed on a gold chain. It was the same crucifix on Grandma Mary's rosary. Bidding the younger man to turn around, he placed the cross around the Scot's neck. 

       "That's better. Now, I'm sure that there's no escape for you."

       Winking, the young Immortal said, "Now, why would I want to do that?" Duncan blew a kiss to the grave at his feet. "Thank you, Mama. I love you."

       Methos raised his left hand to his lover, revealing the crystal and chain bracelet around his wrist. As Duncan took the Old Man's hand, a similar bracelet peeked out from under his coat sleeve. With their hands joined together like that, anyone could see that the bracelets were actually the pieces from a rosary.

       "Let's go, MacLeod!" Methos invited. "How about treating me to that Highland ale you've been bragging to me about?"

       "I know a wonderful place in the village," said Duncan, laughing. "Rachel would be so happy to see us again."

       Sweeping the Highlander into his arms, the ancient gave him a passionate kiss. "Welcome home, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod!" Methos declared to the magnificence of the Highlands. "Welcome home!"


End file.
